She stares at him blankly for a second or two and then shakes her head. He doesn't need to worry about her physical safety, at least. She'll be fine on that count once she's had a solid few hours of sleep in a row, and she's not going to seek out any particular danger to push aside the urge to think.

Beyond that, she can't promise much. She's numb, entirely unable to access a single feeling she can name. His presence is comforting inasmuch as she's able to feel comfort right now, but there's nothing he can do.

"I don't want you to have to feel this."

It's a startling moment of honesty, one that's only possible because she lacks the wherewithal to invent something less true. She doesn't want him to hurt along with her, or to bear whatever rage she's sure will rear its head sooner or later.