There are still days he makes her feel like a child. Belittled, weak, useless, just another girl never meant to be a ninja—a child.
She was never good at throwing weapons. Of course, a child was never able to truly become a ninja without at least some skill—it was a mandatory test in the academy. But she was never able to do it like the others did, could never flick her wrist and land it in the bullseye without looking, like he could. And oh, he never did let her forget it, even now—she is still inferior to him, she knows he is thinking, and for a venomous split second, she believes he is right. She can pulverize a boulder, shut down a nervous system, crack a mountain, even bring a man back from the dead, but it all means nothing in the face of that one particular failure.
It is why she practices in a different Training Ground now, not-so-deliberately avoiding him and the rest of her old team. She really is still like a child, in that respect, hiding from what is hurting her so much—she wishes she could say she was strong, was only able to look him in the eye, smile at him, and tell him that she knows she is weak, and vowing to get better. But she is only human, and can take it no longer.
Ino watches this, sometimes, as well as Chouji. He remarks on just how terrible it is, through a mouthful of chips, that the attentions of a sweet, wonderful girl like Sakura are wasted away on such a demeaning attitude like Sasuke's.
Silently, Ino agrees.
Sakura was never good at throwing weapons.