"It just...felt. Like something else." A fucked up overlap of impressions; there's nothing sexual about what was done to her in Prometheus' custody, and it's nothing she wants conflated together. Him and them and this and this still doesn't make sense, she's still not quite sure of it, if there's something else that she should be doing to make it what she wants it to be-- and now is no time for picking apart every way in which she's failed, is it, but the spiral of thoughts tips downward in a slick inevitability.