Karkat makes a threatening hrrgh, but manages to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong. For one, Shepard would kill him. For two, no she wouldn't, but he'd never be able to live down the shame. He presses his face more into the crinoline; his limbs are useless, but at least his neck is cooperating.

"I said stop," he mumbles against her hat.

He'd be more worried if he could put a name to all what's hurting. It's not like his first arena, when he was beaten three quarters of the way to death and choking on blood from a punctured lung. His leg barely bothers him now, which is a welcome change from the past month, though that might just be the keraunoparalysis.

With his eyes still shut, he doesn't see the passing scenery. He just knows that Shepard is carrying him. Maybe he trained too hard? Is she taking him somewhere? He can't think straight, not really, but if he's going up to his room maybe he can just sleep this pain off. It'll be better in the evening, more manageable. Some rest sounds nice...

His breathing starts to slow, and he doesn't say any more.