A misunderstanding. Peter felt like he was going to throw up. "You weren't there," he rasped at her, suddenly hating her as much as he hated Harry. "I saw him do it, I know it was..." the rest of her words got through and he closed his eyes in confusion.
Looking around, he saw the window again, the patrons, Harry on the floor, beaten and bloody, and acting like he was scared out of his mind. "Look at his eyes," Peter mumbled, not to anyone in particular, and probably only loud enough that Felicia and Harry himself could hear. "He's not afraid of me, he laughing." He would have charged at him again if Felicia wasn't holding onto him.
Curling up around the knot of pain in his stomach, Peter tried to think clearly. His head was swimming with anger and despair, and he was going to do something terrible - something unforgivable - if he didn't start breathing again and just think. And since Felicia was right, he needed to leave. But not without her.
"You can't stay here with him," he said quietly, insistently. "It's not safe. He's not safe. Please, Felicia... please trust me." He couldn't be responsible for her death tonight, too.
And then he saw the ring on her finger and his stomach dropped. "That son of a bitch," he growled, pulling away from her, violently.