It's a guarantee that he has his own reasons, misguided as they might be, for wanting to punish others. Evelyn is certain that if very particular people were still in residence, she would feel the same way - but they aren't, and so she doesn't. It's a privilege she has over him in his petrol-soaked mania, his eyes glassy as his fingers tighten around the knife.

He doesn't know how to use it the way that he should.

It shows when Alex jerks forward to cut her, catching fabric but no skin as she swings out of the way and uses his momentum to jerk him to one side where he might lose his balance. With a small amount of space secured she reaches for the trench knife strapped to her hip, curling her fingers through the brass knuckle handle.

"You're a little boy throwing a tantrum," she replies dispassionately, stepping in to catch his arm with a warning.