He doesn't answer the first part. Indeed, it's not what he meant in that moment, but the matter of not blaming himself is more than can be solved with a few repetitions of that phrase. Even if she's the one dying, even if she has the best position to decide whose fault it is, it's simply too ingrained in him to let it go.
But now as much as before, what gets him about her is her kindness. She's suffered so much: her life's been shit, taking her from place to place with familiarity in all sense lost, only to wind up here dying next to him. Even before she was unnecessarily nice to him, but here when he'd willingly take the blame for her death without being asked, she finds it to be glad he's comparatively okay. Who does that? Since when does he deserve it?
He can feel more warmth rolling down his cheeks, and it's with the absurdity that comes in the worst circumstances that he laughs. "I am the worst excuse for a troll there is, you know that?" He looks back at her finally, a sideways glance. "Here I'm sitting and crying and feeling sorry for someone who's dying, just literally sitting here with you while we wait it out. A proper troll--a proper troll would have left before you even said it, or finished you off himself to keep from being slowed down, or--or killed you when he first ran into you. How did I ever think I could make it to be a threshecutioner?"
He sniffs, laughs again, and looks down to their joined hands. He doesn't know if now is the best time to be rambling about his own species' standards, but if nothing else it offers something to pass the time.
"You're not even the first," he admits. "When I got burned, it was because some tribute--I wasn't paying attention, and I ran into him and he summoned these flames out of nowhere and attacked me. And this woman, I don't know who but she knew me, she ran in and fought him off and told me to run, and not that long after the death alarm went off.
"And then--" And he knows he's rambling, but it's like some stopper has been loosed from him, letting it all flow out. "And then I ran into Terezi. She's--she's a teammate of mine, a friend, and it was fine until the systems fucked up and failed, the gravity and air and everything. She got me to the door, whatever you call it, and pushed me through, but when I went to pull her after me her arm got caught in it. And she--she died like that."
He's crying harder for it, remembering it all: teal blood, that horrible realization, and the heavy weight of guilt.
"Now you. And just--I shouldn't care, I should move on, I should actually kill someone on purpose, but I'm just crying like a grub with a stubbed leg. I should be some brutal, murderous machine and I just don't have it in me."
He sniffs hard, then looks at her again. "Why do you people want me to live so much?"
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But now as much as before, what gets him about her is her kindness. She's suffered so much: her life's been shit, taking her from place to place with familiarity in all sense lost, only to wind up here dying next to him. Even before she was unnecessarily nice to him, but here when he'd willingly take the blame for her death without being asked, she finds it to be glad he's comparatively okay. Who does that? Since when does he deserve it?
He can feel more warmth rolling down his cheeks, and it's with the absurdity that comes in the worst circumstances that he laughs. "I am the worst excuse for a troll there is, you know that?" He looks back at her finally, a sideways glance. "Here I'm sitting and crying and feeling sorry for someone who's dying, just literally sitting here with you while we wait it out. A proper troll--a proper troll would have left before you even said it, or finished you off himself to keep from being slowed down, or--or killed you when he first ran into you. How did I ever think I could make it to be a threshecutioner?"
He sniffs, laughs again, and looks down to their joined hands. He doesn't know if now is the best time to be rambling about his own species' standards, but if nothing else it offers something to pass the time.
"You're not even the first," he admits. "When I got burned, it was because some tribute--I wasn't paying attention, and I ran into him and he summoned these flames out of nowhere and attacked me. And this woman, I don't know who but she knew me, she ran in and fought him off and told me to run, and not that long after the death alarm went off.
"And then--" And he knows he's rambling, but it's like some stopper has been loosed from him, letting it all flow out. "And then I ran into Terezi. She's--she's a teammate of mine, a friend, and it was fine until the systems fucked up and failed, the gravity and air and everything. She got me to the door, whatever you call it, and pushed me through, but when I went to pull her after me her arm got caught in it. And she--she died like that."
He's crying harder for it, remembering it all: teal blood, that horrible realization, and the heavy weight of guilt.
"Now you. And just--I shouldn't care, I should move on, I should actually kill someone on purpose, but I'm just crying like a grub with a stubbed leg. I should be some brutal, murderous machine and I just don't have it in me."
He sniffs hard, then looks at her again. "Why do you people want me to live so much?"