She didn't think the loud chewing coming from your mouth would be such a distraction in the middle of a mission, making her scowl in disgust as she fidgets with a stolen key. Courtesy of the unconscious man on the floor, of course. Someone you're taking care of at this very moment, getting rid of the evidence in a rather... Primal way, to say the least. Maybe if she watched Hannibal she'd be prepared for these kinds of things.

"I told you to watch the door, not to eat the guard." She says in a sharp tone, glancing back at your crouched figure. The crimson red stains on the floor, that glimmering and thick fluid pooling and expanding beneath her feet, it sickens her. Why did I come up with this?

You were the only one available. Every other bad guy of the week was either locked up in an island away from Gotham, or far too busy planning their own schemes. So, why not go for her last option? Maybe because of the mess your habits — or needs — cause. She's no stranger to violence, but there's something about seeing those bloodstained lips that sends shivers running down her spine. "Help me out. And clean your hands before touching anything."