It's clear that Dolores wanted to know, wanted to understand the circumstances that the two came from. She leaned forward to listen, attentively, but as Markus explained her expression fell blank, hearing the words all individually but if asked to recall any of them, make sense of them as a string of information, Dolores simply couldn't. She felt horribly rude, fingers to her temple in quiet frustration, fighting against the protocols that would just have her simply ignore it without questioning the gaps. Maybe it was just getting late, and Dolores yawned a bit in response to the thought. "That's understandable," she agreed, "Perhaps another time."
"I... was happy there," she couldn't understand why it felt like so much of a lie, that she should know better. Nothing she could remember outright contradict it. Her nightmares were only that, imagined. Dreams don't mean anything, Dolores. "I don't think it's anything like what you two experienced," she turned her head toward Connor, frowning sympathetically. "Unfortunately what I miss most is my father," she looked slightly guilty, because she had turned down the opportunity to exit this place even if it was hearing his voice that warned her from doing so. "He'd be incredibly worried about me."