Does he help her up? Is she hurt? R scans her for obvious injuries and doesn't see anything as in your face as big splashes of red or ragged stumps. He sniffs tentatively her way as he starts to sit up. Life comes back at him, life and sweat and that scent that may or may not be an adrenaline rush still ebbing away that he tastes on the roof is mouth. It's one of those undead sixth senses most likely.

"Owe..." R shrugs. Fine by him. Friends help friends. He presumably lived by that motto and turning it over in his head, he thinks it sounds reasonable even if he's Dead. "Help...you...now?"

Maybe it's Eva showing motherly affection by straightening his shirt - he remembers it happening before but no clue if it's from his memories or someone he ate - or maybe he's just happy not to be pinned to the floor anymore. He starts to lean toward her before he realizes he better abort the Creepy Train while he still can. Right, right. Priorities. Paying attention to his surroundings that apparently includes looking down for plants. Focus on getting Eva to her feet.

Staggering to his feet sends a trail of black ooze down the entry wound from her spear, R staring down at the top of Eva's head and feeling the hunger perking up as it sends up flashes of want. Daydreams of cracking her head open like a walnut. Gorging on Essence of Eva Salazar right here and now. Swallowing, R waits until he's sure he won't jump her while she'd down.

Grunting, he stoops to help her up, his hands gentle but cold against her skin. There's a distinct lack of distrust in his touch that doesn't belong in the Arena. A few thick drops of what passes for his blood plops against the back of her hand.