It's deeply, horribly unfair for the poison darts of her crassness to garner that reaction. The glittering mirth appears genuine, doesn't seem to be pasted on over the cracks of irritation or revulsion or anger, all of which would have been infinitely more rewarding. She stares up at her captor, dagger-eyed, rolls her neck within the confines of her chains until her joints crack with ominous - if impotent - promise.

The footsteps of the returning guards ring bright across the stones, momentarily cutting off any further choice words she might have spat at the vampire's feet. Gideon eyes them with the same cutting intensity she had levelled at their queen only moments before, but it does nothing to prevent them from approaching her.

Had she wished to be clean just now? Maybe, but not like this. The arctic chill of the water snatches at her breath as it's unceremoniously dumped over her, chest constricting hard around the abrupt drop in temperature. It's bitterly cold, and as soon as she's able to catch her breath around it she's yelling in incoherent shock. It's a yell that she manages - at the last - to shape into a further string of expletives-- a drawn-out tumult of the very worst words she can think of.

As the last of the water drains away, leaving her panting and shivering in the wake of it, she still manages to cough out - albeit with somewhat less gusto - "You had better kill me, because if I manage to get out of here, I'm gonna rip your fucking tits off."

A statement that might have sounded more threatening were it not forced from between chattering teeth.