"I'll be fine," she thinks about leaving. Her stomach hurts, a sharp sort of hunger pain that Katniss is so accustomed to back from the days when they used to eat bark and mint leaves soaked in hot water if there was nothing else. "You can leave," Katniss is already pushing herself off the bed, rebraiding strands of hair that had come loose, matted against her scalp.

She doesn't quite look at him, because all she pictures is his arrows sticking out of the chests of men on the ground. It feels like such a hypocritical thing, this disgust of hers over killing people, considering what she's done. Yet this feels more like...tainting the Gale that she knew, the one whose arrows were made and intended only for animals.