Raven regretted nothing. At least, not out loud. Did she regret the actions, her actions, that led to Finn's imprisonment aboard the Ark? Yes. Landing on Earth? No, not at all. Being shot by Murphy? Raven would have done it all over again. Clarke and the others needed her and there was no way in hell that she would let them down. To Raven, everything that happened, every choice, every movement, and motion was her choice and hers alone. No, she did not blame Bellamy for the paralysis of her lower leg. The young man had ended up swinging from the ceiling of the Drop Ship by his neck. He'd been willing to sacrifice his own life for those Murphy held hostage within the wreck. It was a mark of change, a significant difference taking place, an evolution with Bellamy that Raven wasn't sure she would ever see. Selflessly, he do anything and everything to protect the delinquents, his people. It allowed the first seeds of Raven's admiration for Bellamy to take root, seed, and blossom.
It was only on a deep, dark personal and selfish level that she longed for the use of her leg and wished, more than anything, someone could have done something to protect her. It was in those moments of self-loathing, hatred, negativity, and pain, she could be mad at whatever God wielded the fate that had passed this one on to her. A mother who chose the drink over her daughter's life. A boy who'd given his ration for her, protected her, like the brother she never had. A love lost, shattered, the pieces not quite settled into new form before he was gone, stabbed by the blond he'd given his heart to instead. Raven, disabled, broken, and left to find her way without the light she'd known for so, so long to guide her way. Yes, those private seconds, alone, in her room, here or there, she could hate and feel the scathing heat of stifled anger bubble to the surface. As quickly as they rose, like a tidal wave within her heart, was as quickly as they ceased. The calm overtaking all. The calm she lived her life in every day.
Bellamy stepped back, but his hands remained on her arms and his eyes studied her in the dim light. She Bellamy was seeing much the same thing etched in her own face, her features, as she picked up so easily in his own. A weariness. She couldn't imagine what Bellamy felt when he pulled the lever. Raven never thought for a second that she could comprehend the weight of such a choice on the human condition. How much pain, torture, could the human heart take? How much could you push down, deep inside, before, eventually, there was no more space to occupy with the sadness, the horrid, but necessary deeds? Before everything exploded like a volcano, a ticking time bomb. When would he no longer be able to rationalize it away? When he pulled away like Clarke? He come back despite the huge burden laid upon his shoulders, body already crumbling under the weight of his own crimes, his own powerful guilt. No! Raven knew better; he would not leave her. And if he did, she'd have to kick his ass with her one good leg.