Bruce wouldn't have killed them. Right? Unless this Gotham was exponentially different. Then again, she didn't really know Bruce. She'd only met him the one time. Well, twice if they were going to be technical, but she didn't think that dream thing counted. Thankfully, he wasn't there. How embarrassing would that be? Only slightly more so than being rescued by Robin, right? Regardless, this level of finality was saved for a certain mindset, and while there were many that would forgo diplomacy in favor of butchery, there weren't many that would do so in that costume.
Donna's cold fingers trembled as they tangled clumsily into his, reaching for that lifeline he offered. He wouldn't hurt her. If he had wanted to, he would have done so already. There was still a fuzzy aura of disbelief around her as she let him help her to her feet, but one thing was certain in that flash of recognition when her eyes met his; She knew exactly who he was. He was older than she thought he would have been, and even if he hadn't just killed four people, he was still intimidating. There was nothing intimate in her gaze as if he had wronged her, or even a familiarity of being acquainted. Donna's awe was the dawning realization of meeting a celebrity, or what she equated to celebrity status.
Maybe, just maybe, she was still in that stupid hotel dream.
If she was, she didn't act like it. She was overcome with that sudden appreciation of being alive due to him, and whatever he had to do to accomplish that could be pushed aside. His grouchy glower and blunt tone should have warned the woman to keep her distance, but no. The relief of being saved rushed through every cell in her body, and Donna stumbled forward awkwardly to try and wrap her arms around him. Something sort of like a hug if she wasn't still quite so distracted by dead people, and mixed with needing to verify he was real behind a few choked back sobs. "Thank you. Thank you so much..."