There was no time left for her to spare on anything. It was running short on her, slipping through her efforts, through her attempts to make haste. The only thing in her mind that kept her hopes alive and going was that Montag was already on his way to help the girl - after all there was quite a lot of time she spent on distracting most of the guards and police workers in here, the mayor himself and the various guests he had in the villa - who were most certainly quite amused by the display of the poor to come on the party; most certainly in a way how a person would be amused by a theatrical performance. 

She was sure there was an opening large enough for the detective to act. Even though she herself remained rather useless to the whole operation in terms of action, she could at least win some time. Such was her mindset when she opened the door to the villa in full determination to get to the second floor and reunite with Montag as soon as possible. 
Soon enough though that mindset was taken away from her. 

Through the ruckus in the kitchen she saw Montag, held down by a woman with a clearly seen pulsating tattoo on her neck - the pulsating with dim and deep blackness, swelling, almost shining on the surface of the skin. Abigail could have sworn she saw what she saw, even if her mind was not giving a space for that seen image to be processed through anyhow. It was alien, it was not meant to be - yet there it was. 
So were the woman’s words.

It was unheard and impossible to make sense out of - but what Abigail looked as clear was the eyes of Montag locked onto woman’s in a gaze hazy and almost lost to its owner. She knew that haze in a life mundane - opium, alcohol. That looked the same, but it felt different, Abigail could not really understand why, her mind could not make any direct understanding on what was going on, yet her guts - and frankly her fate - were screaming that something was wrong. The pulsation of the woman’s tattoo only made this feeling stronger and more intense - it was as if something inside of Abigail’s heart was making her heart to rush more intense, and that tensity was speaking to her on some deeper, inner level of her entire being and existence. 

Usually people would call it an animal within, a rageful instinct driven beast. But in that case, Abigail felt something different from that. Something that spoke to her in the language of faith. She was not able to put it into words, she only knew it like she knew how to breathe.
Whatever was happening to Montag was wrong.

And so her body moved accordingly. Woman’s body spoke of danger, her words unheard were spoken like a venom to drop into Montag, and there was only one clear thing to do - to stop her. Abigail rushed through the kitchen, closer to Montag, trying to push through the bystanders, various cooks and waiters running around, stumbling as she went, getting up on her feet again and in that motion, clinging onto one of the waiters and pushing him right into that woman’s aiming to stop her from holding Montag by hand and talking this venom into his mind. 
Next thing Abigail did was to grab onto Montag’s hand and pull him away from the woman, trying to break that weird connection of their eyes.