When he sees her standing there in the console room, it catches him off guard. It's not actually her, a part of his mind acknowledges, it's just the interface, but the rest of him doesn't really seem to care because she's here, she's right in front of him.
It's the first time he's seen her with these eyes. These eyes which have seen too much death and war and pain. His last body was created by her, for her, and she had been part of him for so long that it's strange not to feel his heart beats center themselves around her.
He wonders if she would have liked the bow tie.
In between his gasping breaths, before he dies for the last time, he spares a moment to think of her. After all she had once promised him forever, can't he at least think about her for a second? But that train of thought hurts too much, so he switches the paths his thoughts are following.
He sees the pink and yellow, yes, but a new color has been added. The blue of her new jacket is now prominent, and he doesn't think it's a coincidence that his TARDIS is the same hue. But it also seems to show a change in her, a difference from when he first met her, grabbed her hand, and whispered run.
His Rose is—was pink and yellow, young and new and innocent. Maybe the other, human Doctor's Rose is old and confident and strong. Different. Wiser. He hopes she is happy. And he hopes she knows how much she has helped him. How she saved him from himself.
Even with all of the pain, he would never take a single moment of it back. He yells at his ship and her image disappears—gone. The moment passes and he sucks in another weak gasp of air, struggling to sit up.
He's not going to die today.