Iris didn't recoil or even really react when Hypnos reached a bold hand forward to tuck some hair behind her ear and that was not only because she was so utterly exhausted at this point that she didn't care enough to fight such a benign action. It was also because she didn't really consider Hypnos much of a threat. Sleep never struck Iris as either the violent type or the kind to take advantage of a woman in a compromised state. She felt perfectly safe in his presence which was both a blessing and a curse, for while it was nice to be relaxed in someone's company, to be relaxed to the point of not caring what happened around you was not exactly wise when one was from Olympus and in the territory of the Underworld.
Fighting another yawn to the point where her face contorted a bit, she leaned slightly to the side to make herself more comfortable. “What do you mean?” She asked and reclined a bit more. “I'm not particularly skilled at comforting the grieving. Her people would be far more suited to such a task -her family and friends. But if I approached with such information, it would seem cold to deliver the message and then abandon her in her tears and,” another yawn, “I don't think a few pats on the shoulder are going to make her feel better.”
At her next yawn, Iris lifted a hand to cover her mouth to try to hide it. “I am not cold, I am not cruel, but comfort is not my strong suit and as much as I would like to advocate that the poor dear just drink herself into a temporary coma until she's gotten past the initial shock and pain, that would be wildly inappropriate as an envoy of Hera's.” Of at least that much she was certain. Moderation was usually the key to life, nothing in excess -at least that was what the mortals preached in their perceived Greek Codes of Conduct for a good life. Dionysos aside, most gods didn't really go to excess all that often when it came to imbibing intoxicants.