Michel knew he should've been feeling victorious. If she was really going to leave him be, then he had won, hadn't he? He wanted her to go. However, there was something about her submission that just continued to bother him. He waited for her to continue what she was saying, but when she was done, she was done. That was it. It was like watching someone just throw in the towel or retreat behind a rock. It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to yell at her for that, too, but he was aware he would just be contradicting himself then when he knew he couldn't afford to.
"Fine," he finalized, almost trying to match the flatness in her tone as if he didn't care. There were a million other things he wanted to say instead and with his usual ferocity, but he held his tongue. However, he stared challengingly at the back of her head, really not expecting that to be it even though there was nothing else to expect. He had been the one to keep her around even when she refused, so he knew that she didn't really have a reason to otherwise with everything that had been said between them.
He stood from the bed, lightly touching the bandages on his head to make sure they were secure as well. The pain was considerably less without the uncomfortably jammed up mess on his head. "There's not really any way you could prove yourself. You've been sick." His tone was unsympathetic and it was fully intended to rub salt in the emotional wounds. It wasn't necessarily to be mean-spirited, though. Any sort of sickness she might have had wasn't an issue until it meant him losing an eye, after all. And, though certainly different from her, it would've been a lie to think that he had a completely healthy mentality. Michel was just trying to see if there was anything else he could get out of her.
"And what do I even do with this when it's healed?"