She's had a lot of time over the years to get over the idea of people laughing at her, but it's still a little raw, finding herself in a new place with new strangers who are still laughing. She digs her fingers into the palm of her hand, trying to focus on the sharp pain instead of the one from the poison.

It isn't working.

"I'm not gonna," she mutters to herself, because she's going to get out of this. She has to. "And poison is a shitty blood sport." That, she says louder, yelling to the ground.