I hate you.
The words come almost naturally to him now, this declaration of resentment and dislike. They're used every day, over every little thing, and he doesn't even have to think about the reason he's saying it.
It's because he has to keep his real feelings hidden. For they would be scorned, and mocked, and laughed at. They would be used against him.
But he allows himself to dream. He allows himself to think about what would happen if these feelings were accepted, if they were nurtured and cared for. He allows himself to feel strong arms around him, soft kisses on his cheek. But it's all in his mind.
Kyle lays back on the bed and wonders how this whole thing started. These constant reminders of the unrivaled passion of hate revolving around them.
He drifts off into sleep, thinking about all the times he's been called a Jew by the one he loves most.
He talks in his sleep.
I hate you, Cartman.