She holds her peace almost imperiously for a moment, though even she's not entirely sure herself what exactly she's punishing him for. It wasn't always pretty, the push and pull between them. But the emotion that finally floods Tony's features melts her own resolve and she seems to visibly deflate, shoulders bowing inward. She reaches for his proffered hand, something almost sad flashing across her face.
"I'm cold," she warns him, not meaning it in the traditional sense and she knows he knows it. The more time passes from her last feeding, the cooler her skin feels to the touch, turns paler; she's perfectly aware how uncomfortable -- disturbing, even -- that must be, being so near her dead body and unbeating heart during such times.