Her eyes were locked on his face, searching it for clues on exactly how alert she should be acting right now. While the irises were still their normal hazel-green (with the heavy shadow goth-makeup she applied to hide the way her eyes tended to look sunken against her face), there were traces of rage-disease red spiderwebbing around in the whites. It'd been there since she took off from the morgue, fueled by whatever undead version of adrenaline was. It made her faster, and her senses keener, incase she had to sniff him out.
It was gone quickly enough, and she huffed a breath from her lips, even though she hardly needed it. Liv tucked her arm under Dean's, hooking them at the elbows like some hipster BFF's or promenading couple from the 20's. "C'mon... First pie. Then storytime."