"I can't believe I did this." She holds his poor wounded hand in her two as she kneels upright on the floor before him, feeling sick to her stomach as she stares at the raw, weeping wounds where his fingernails had been. He is staring down too, splaying his fingers out, a nauseated kind of fascination on his face. In a way it's even worse than what she did to his thigh, because the severity and extent of the burn to his thigh was an accident – ripping out his fingernails was purposeful.