[The noisy yips, the carefree words; everything is perfectly audible, even over her heartbeat pounding in her ears, but she doesn't hear at all as she shuffles onward like a sleep-walker. Her hands are balled up tightly in her jacket pockets to keep them from reaching for her knife, and she's vaguely aware of the fact that her throat has tightened up.
There's enough sense left for her to recognize that this is her body's anticipation of murder, and lament that she still gains nothing from it. Like always, it's as if she's a mere spectator of her actions, detached from her own self.
--But things should be okay, even at this point. It's not the first time it's been this bad, and she hasn't followed through on a meaningless kill yet. She knows she won't get any satisfaction even if she does kill the woman, after all]