[Calliope feels a little bad; like she let her hatred carry her away before she realized she was talking to someone who may be entirely earnest in her feelings. But at least she does have one way of explaining, hopefully in a way that helps, and Calliope's voice sweetens back up again.]
It's an inherent quality of red-blooded cherubs, love. It's nothing that anyone can help.
The only things he cares about are destruction and winning. [And her, but her repeated destruction and loss to him is implicit in that.]
It's... it's a beautiful thing to try and find the good in someone bad, but there is none. I spent years trying, too.