She's not sure where she is.
She's not sure of a lot of things, but she knows that she's not in the right place. Somewhere along her journey - she thinks she was going someplace, though she can't remember where or why - a wrong turn was made, a change that's brought her to wherever she is now and left her here, far away from her intended destination with no guide in sight. She's alone, and it's frightening; there are things out here in this wilderness, things so beyond her understanding that she can only cover her eyes from them and cry. She can only hope that this nightmare she's walked into can end soon.
It doesn't, of course, so she walks.
Walks aimlessly, walks oblivious to the horror of her surroundings, and as she walks she cries - cries because things are so bewildering, so threatening, so lost that she can't think of anything to do but keep shortening the distance between where she is now and where she's heading towards. The little glimpses of the bright, bleak world that filter in between the bars of her fingers are not where she wants to be; she sobs harder and continues on her inane route until the sunlight fades and she can't see the lack of path in front of her.
She kneels on the ground - differently textured each time, but always cold, always uninviting - and wails at the day that's passed, another day of forging forward that will meld into another, and another, and another. Her destination is nowhere in sight, but the darkness is cool; salve for her eyes that are red from lamenting for so long. It spreads itself over the unfamiliarity of her environment and her crying continues, this time out of gratitude for this daily mercy, this reprieve that comes after each day of wandering.
"I'll give that bitch something to cry about."
Light soon enters her field of vision, though - light not from the sun, but cold, white light that sears at her eyesight and comes hours before any light has a right to arrive. The newest torment is too much and she growls, glares at its source and screeches at it to go away.
A flash, and the light surges forward to meet her, it splinters and burns and she has enough time to let out one final sob before her crying peters out with the staccato beat of her pulse. She's not there yet - she hasn't found her destination yet, and it's not –
"Good shot."
"Thanks."