There's irony in this, she thinks. Or justice, or karma. She's not sure. It's not that it's hard to think, it's just that she doesn't know. But there's a lot of things she doesn't know. Didn't. Might not ever know.
It's not the first time she's been stabbed through with a sword. It's the first time that sword was made of lightning, and it's the first time the one who did it was Sasuke.
She stared down at the glowing, pulsing blade that jutted out of her chest. She can tell from here that he'd gone for vital spots, points she can't heal on herself in time before she'll pass out, and then…
It fades away, rather than draws out of her, and she can feel the sand in her hourglass pouring out like through a cracked open jar. There's no point in wasting time on feeling betrayed, or wondering why. There's no time to waste on trying to save herself, either.
She turned her head, steadying her shaky vision on the specter of the man she'd spent so very long dreaming of, summoned her chakra to her fists, and launched herself at him with all the draining strength she had left.
It was all she had time left to do.