She can't stand this feeling, this fear eating her from the inside out. She hates not being able to trust anybody. She hates whoever or whatever made Peter turn traitor.
She doesn't want to live in this world anymore, she wants to leave it, to take her family and... go. Somewhere, anywhere, anything is better than this. This place, this now, is haunted with nightmares of scarlet eyes and snakes unfurling themselves from the insides of skulls. It's too full of terrible ideas and patterns and frights threatening to spill over into her reality, shifting themselves from her thoughts to her words to her actions to everything that goes on around her.
But mostly, she hates him. It's all his fault that she thinks the way she does, running herself in circles until she collapses in bed at night, only to be greeted with the thoughts again. And it's all his fault.
Voldemort.