Even though it was really hard to process and understand exactly what was going on or being said, Anthony was aware enough that talking was happening. The torturer was there, bothering L about something, and holding something in her hand. What was that, anyway?

With monumental effort he managed to shift himself, tilting his head enough to crack open one weary eye to peer at them from under his matted bangs. A syringe, it took a lot longer than it should have to realize what it was, but the word 'morphine' might as well be foreign to him right now. Anthony was still having a lot of trouble understanding things, one thing he did know is that for some reason instead of completely spent and exhausted that strange fury that he'd not had enough energy to feel in days had started to boil again.

Only this time it was different, he couldn't completely place how, but somehow it felt... dangerous. Like if whatever was going on didn't stop soon, things would get really bad. Not that he could articulate that at the moment, just work his jaw kind of uselessly, puff a frustrated exhausted noise, and go back to slumping because it took too much effort to try to watch.

Do what you want he didn't care anymore.