The struggle to separate is mercifully brief; her nails dig into his skin and gouge bloody marks, but for as powerful as she is (moreso than she realizes-- especially now, when she's in no state to realize much of anything) she still doesn't have even half of his physical strength and she tumbles sideways, sliding on the sheet in a puddle of blood and breathing too quickly and shallowly. Her fingers clutch and flex uselessly against the pillow where her wrist falls, his blood under her nails; she's coming back, but she's not there yet, the sensation of what she's just done reverberating through everything else and in its way prolonging this surreal moment.

She's crying; she'll notice that, eventually.