The fear dies down again, slower this time, aided as it fails to hurt more and what pain there is matters less. It's hypnotic, the concerted movement of fingers and lips and tongue.

Idly she tries to reason out the rate of blood loss, but the numbers float away and she gives it up as a bad job. Then she tries to figure out what sort of morphology changes would need to happen to create such a low pitch from human-sized vocal chords, and that distracts her for longer.

Long enough that she's stopped leaning against that soothing hand for comfort, and is leaning against it because she's getting dizzy, a feeling like spending too long on a carnival ride.