Molotov sees red, has to grab Tom's leg to stop herself from losing all control of herself. How dare this little mongrel think to even compare the two of them, how dare she think she's better? Molotov's ears are pounding from the furious rush of blood, her absolute rage at this French piece of trash even speaking her name.

She'd been planning to make it quick, a slit of the throat or a twist of the neck. Easy for everyone.

That plan is gone now.

Eponine just never seems to learn.