"That is obvious." She catches the falter, but presses on. He doesn't deserve anything from her.

"Yes, it certainly will be you. And it would have been you before the blood froze your heart and lungs. It is what you are, Montparnasse. A sick bastard. You find things and people that you care for, and then you bring about their death."

"It all seeps off of you. You're incorrigible. You pretend to treasure your friends but would kill them in a rage. You will end up alone. It is people and things like you that I hold in contempt."

Most of this is guesswork, based off what she can feel from him. But some, she simply knows.