Feeling the closest to being happy only comes when she is alone. Mixing her blood with poison makes loneliness easier to deal with if she is on her own.
There isnt enough hate left. All that remains are the memories that tug on her sleeves, wanting to be picked up and held tightly. But her arms were too heavy from a drug induce to take part. She is choking on her own words, scared of her own actions, her emotions at the very surface, dying to break through.
But she wont let them.