The battle was cruel. She fought forward, eyes locked on the half-man mounted on his horse. If she looked to either side, she knew she would be frozen again by terror, so she just focused on the Lannister before her. Death. It fell from the skies above her, closed on every side, and somehow missed the one she really wished to see die.
Her arm closed around his leg, dragging him off the back of his horse, and her sword was ready to split his skull down the seams, but she couldn't. She had killed men before, many of them, but they had all stood a chance. This dwarf, essentially unarmed, pinned by her foot, she did not wish to kill him, only to kill what he was. Lannister. She let out a growl and drove her blade into the dirt beside his head, before ripping it back and turning away, back into the fray. It was not Tyrion she wished to kill, it was Tywin.
In the end, she was not strong enough to escape capture. She was chained in a line with the others and made to walk.