"Why her? Why ME?!" The soul inside Lisa shrieked with very real vocal chords, which cracked with very real pain. She flipped expressions as fast as a switch, and waves of the matching emotion heading each with the full force of a forest fire. Certainly not benign, but not malicious or malevolent either. Just pure reactive trauma; the perfect mix of shredded innocence, naivety, hatred, torture, and terror.
It'd been inflicted on her before she died. Now she would reflect it on anything that dared to get close. Which she did- by picking up anything and everything she could get her hands on to chuck it with damaging speed, right at him.
"He did this to me- you should ask him why he cut me open and sewed me back up a hundred times!"
In the pale gloom of the Marrowood afternoon, Lisa's exposed olive skin looked waxy and pale, like sickness. And though her eyes contained life, it wasn't vibrant or warm, but the cold burn of something dead, but still angry. She pressed her lips and snarled in his direction, pacing like a feverish bull with it's eyes on red. Picking up more projectiles- this time a broken syringe, a heavy stick, and the slide itself- launching them at his head as she screamed.
"She was close and it's my turn! He took everything before I had a chance! I'm not. going. back!"