She's not upright yet; she's had one too many (two too many?) glasses of wine to be quick about scrambling to her feet, and candidly the novelty of being frightened of demons as they vomit out of rifts has somewhat lost it's edge. Maybe that is why she seems so briefly flummoxed by the statement. She isn't standing anywhere, thank you.

(Also the egg might have been helpful. Has anyone proven that spirits have no weakness to them?)

"I can't very well close the rift from behind you," she huffs, holding her hand up (the right one, not the one pulsing and crackling with Fade touched energy). "Help me up."