Rodeo's eyes never leave Emilie's face, not even when he wants to look away from the desperation and ruin he sees there. He listens to her beg for more, listens to how her voice trembles as she tells him she'll die without it, and he lets it sink in deep to his bones. He deserves to see this, to know this, to understand fully what he has caused. Rodeo has never shied away from accepting blame for his sins, and staring straight into the eyes of this physical embodiment of the damage he's done is like some kind of confessional. He knows he can't undo the damage that's already been done, but he still believes he can make amends. If this is a confessional, then it must be followed by an albification. His hands reach out, covering Emilie's on his knees, closing around her hands and holding them, squeezing them, trying to ground her and draw her back from the edge of hysteria.
"I understand," he murmurs. Those little green crystals may be what's eating her up inside, but he has his own demons that he's been feeding. This mess was caused by his pride, his ego, his hunger for vengeance and the driving power of his insatiable rage. He does understand. His addiction to violence has burned him down too many times for him not to. He releases Emilie's hands, finally looking away from her as he reaches into the bag. He takes out a can of chicken soup, and he draws his ka-bar from the sheath on his belt loop. He stabs the tip of the knife into the top of the can, sawing off the lid and then holding the can out to her. "You'll do anything, darlin'? Show me. C'mon. Eat this." He's not gonna give her shit. But he knows she'll do what he says, hoping so desperately that he will.