she doesn't

"Oh really? You're sorry for this?" She raises her leg nimbly and with incredible flexibility, but she's shaking to keep it. You can see the welts on her lower thighs and ankles from the beatdown you inflicted on her in the final moments of the match. It has to hurt, so you ask, "is anything broken?"

"No thank god, and no thanks to you bitch," she snaps, her words like a viper biting at your neck. "I'm not fighting for a month at least, that means I'm not getting paid for a month. I hope you're fucking sorry."

You try and find the words to soothe her rage, but they don't exist. So, you just stand there sputtering until she speaks again.

"I'm going to make you regret this. Now GET OUT!" she shouts as you run out, slamming the door behind you.