He meets her eye and she doesn't know how she might look to him, worlds away and in a time she put past and he doesn't even know yet. Dazed, she wonders what he's thinking, what he actually feels about this shit he's doing. About trying to save her from death in a futile gesture that will only prolong this.

Then the pain stops--and he panics. As if she'd move. As if the pain would let her. She drops her head back again, eyes closed and shakes her head.

"Stop, it's not going to help. Can't you tell...?"

Can't he tell how pale she is under a layer of grim from this horrible arena. How she drifts from reality to dream, it can't last. Maybe if she could have clean clothes, some way to fix her leg, water and food--a bed, the things a person needs to recover. If maybe, she was somewhere else entirely, this would have worked.