Pure anger fuelled him. Nothing but that. Anger and adrenaline and pent up feelings forced his arms to work, despite the pain radiating from his face. He cried out, wordlessly, as his blade parted Seifer's skin. You will suffer…
"I hate you," he panted, as Seifer's pained cry rent the air, just an echo of his. "I hate you I hate you Ihateyou…"
Seifer bent down and Squall wondered when he had fallen. Seifer's arms wrapped around him and he fought, fought with all the adrenaline he had left that was fast draining away, leaving him cold and sick with the taste of blood in his mouth.
"I love you," Seifer said, horribly gentle, and he shook his head. Denying it. Seifer wouldn't love him. He didn't love Seifer either. Denial. The last of the adrenaline departed and he threw himself backwards, out of Seifer's arms, to spit out the blood gathering in his mouth from that horrible gash on his face. "I love you and that mark proves it."
He looked up and glared through the red haze of blood at Seifer. He was cold. Cold, but he wasn't shaking because of that. He'd spent all his energy in that desperate vengeful swing and now he was horribly drained. Drained enough that he couldn't fight when Seifer picked him up, doubtless taking him to the infirmary and the doctor's rough-gentle hands and the shame of being defeated.
"I'll kill you," he promised, his voice not wavering in the least, not betraying his agony or his weakness. He would regret that promise and his words, his thoughts, because Seifer would suffer and he wouldn't kill him. Seifer's lips twisted in a sneer, but he didn't know then how much he would long for Squall to make good on that promise, just a few weeks later.