She can barely move, the morphling setting in like lead in her veins. She's just shades away from comatose, although she knows from experience that it's better than the pain, the fire that would otherwise settle into her internal wounds and smolder until she goes light-headed and passes out.

Words don't come easy in this state, and she blinks dully, her eyelids low. "Doesn't... hurt," she mumbles, sounding very dazed and tired. "Jason."