[Having utterly no context for the situation, she's quick (too quick, really) to accept that she must've done something wrong to this man. Even if he was bold enough to try and stab her over her apparent past actions, to feel so strongly, she must have done something to deserve it. Her shoulders slump slightly, and her gaze flickers away for just a moment — she didn't want to keep her eyes off of him for too long, least he make another attempt at something.]

I don't know what you want from me, then. Is my death really going to be so satisfying to you? Is that truly the only way to absolve my sins? Blood isn't going to fill whatever void I've left.