As is suited to one in her particular position, Sina goes still, watching Pel with her eyes large and terrified, still streaming with tears. The only sound she makes is the slight wheeze of her breath, her lungs protesting from their overexertion; and just like that, her shard spits again, causing her to jolt with a gasp of pain and surprise. What's wrong with it? Was it the electricity?
She'll worry about it when she's not about to be paralyzed. Or killed.
Still keeping her eyes on Pel, Sina's hand slowly creeps toward her belt, feeling for the small gardening knife she keeps on her at all times. It's not exactly made for slashing at enemies, but it's a blade, and its job is to cut things. She grips the pommel, playing at holding a stitch in her side.