She wasn't struggling, but it wasn't at all a surprise to Batman. With the Joker locked up, it had only been a matter of time until Harley had done something stupid, something obvious, to get herself thrown in, too. It was a regular practice, and he was beginning to grow accustomed to these patterns. Joker got busted, Harley would follow shortly, both would break out. Repeat. Ad nauseam.
It was a pity, really.
Looking down into her face, washed clean of its grease paint, Batman took the moment to acknowledge that she really was pretty. Beyond pretty- stunning, really. Blond hair, piercing blue eyes, a lithe body, strong with lean muscles. If things had gone differently, if she had avoided the Joker and finished her schooling to become a real psychiatrist, perhaps she would have been someone he- Bruce Wayne- would have had on his arm at a gala. She'd look lovely next to him on the front page of the paper, a complimentary opposite to his dark looks.
"Why doncha take a picture, Batsy? It'll last longer."
But she was tainted and crazy and /his/.
He pushed her off towards Arkham's night crew.
"Take her."