Buffy hadn't wanted to see anyone. She hadn't even wanted to talk to anyone, so she ignored Jack and Faith's texts when they came in. But Spike was different. She wanted to at least let him know she was alive after the confrontation with Glory, but he ended up being stubborn enough to go out to find her, anyway. Well, fine. But she wasn't going back home. Not that it was home, anyway.
She was defeated and embarrassed and just a royal mess on the inside. Buffy had wanted to take the matter of Glory into her own hands, since no one else seemed to think it was important in her mind, and look where that line of thinking had gotten her. She was busted up, bleeding and bruised and cut nearly from head to toe. It didn't hurt as badly as it looked, since Slayers had pretty amazing recovery systems, but one could tell she'd had her ass handed to her by the hell god. Bartleby's sword had been effective, but not enough to take Glory down when Buffy was by herself with minions crawling all over the place. It had been a disaster, and it could've been avoided if Buffy hadn't been so selfish and immature. Of course, she was blaming herself now.
She heard the sound of footsteps from behind her, caught the vibe of a vampire as he strode up the street, and she knew it was Spike. She didn't stop or turn around, though. He'd told her to stay put, she didn't listen, and now she was continuing on like she'd wanted to from the beginning.