Gasping for air (lungs actually burning, inflating and chest throbbing wildly, a pulse he could feel through his whole body like a driving beat), Jasper slowly rolled himself over onto his side in an effort to curl up and die (again), careless of the sharp rocks and shattered glass and whatever else had come down with that building. A whole lifestyle, he suspected. "I bit him," he muttered, "I bit Captain America?" It wasn't entirely clear to Jasper yet, either. Why would he do that? Actually bite somebody, anybody, let alone Captain America. Who did that? He was a vampire and a Nazi.
The taste of blood still in his mouth made him shudder, though, metallic and thick and a lot like the bile gathering at the back of his throat. He had to move fast then, pushing up onto his elbow so he didn't choke when he heaved and spat, gasping again, feeling his stomach burble and roil. That hadn't happened in a long time. There wasn't supposed to be anything else in there.