You couldn't scythe the knees out from under Alexa more effectively with a cannon.

That's it? You're giving up? You attacked her, attacked her friends, you're just--you can't just [i]decide[/i] that the fight's over, not when she's brimming with all this energy! Her head pounds, her chest heaves, her fingers clench and unclench uselessly on the spearhaft. She needs to move, needs to swing! Come on! Stand and fight! Give her satisfaction!

Her spear digs angry sparks from the floor as she paces, eyes always on the assassin. Come on, you, make your move! Come on! You have to do it, because you haven't surrendered and she can't hit you if you're not fighting back! Can't vent this energy, can't keep going! And if she can't keep going!--

Her body sings with energy! And so long as she's moving, pushing, attacking, she can keep going. So long as there's a threat to fight, she doesn't have to think about the nicks, the scrapes. She can stave off the moment her body insists that she's exhausted, insists that things are wrong, that she should take a moment to think!--

Thinking is bad. She's spent all these centuries thinking, being careful, and look where that's got her! Keep it up. You can push through this. Aggression. Anger! So long as you keep moving, you don't need to go back! You can keep this, can keep riding that razor's edge of this being alright!

Because if this isn't alright, then she has to go back.

"To be fair, if you had come for Nero as you were, I would not have done so," she admits. "But I cannot allow you to hurt them. So what now?"