She might as well keep trying to get her lipstick. It's not as if there were many distractions right now other than wondering what's happening to the organs that belonged in her abdominal cavity. The surrounding area is rather desolate; most items of interest had been either been destroyed in the fight or taken as spoils by the victor. She wishes there were at least some proof of who had won so she could more easily be avenged (retribution, the mother she'd never really had), but mostly there's an indication of her own presence, where her tracks suddenly become heavier as she tried to take a running leap with her chainsaw. A marksman unfortunately has no corresponding flinch. Her own body covers most of the blood on the grass, as she fell backwards over the stain.

From her supine position on the ground she can hear footsteps more deeply. They don't have that District 4 rhythm suggesting swimming was more natural than walking; no quick career confidence either. Out of the tributes who were still alive, there's a primary candidate for her visitor. The last person she wanted to see her... but considering she had to choose from, probably the person she did want to see last. Vriska was the best; Aradia and Sollux had been impressive; but Karkat had something all the other tributes lacked, even her. He had compassion, the far-reaching kind the Capitol had tried to stomp out. The satisfying image of him tearing out her murderer's neck flashes before her eyes briefly, and vanishes as soon as she's seen it. He can't do it automatically like she would for him, can he?

She tries to lift her eyes in the direction of the approach. If it's that son of a bitch from District 2 she has to be ready for anything.