It's the curse of curiosity that has her paced slowed once she reaches open ground. With more room to move, with the knowledge that Cortana is working as a safeguard and that she's set her own translocator to force him to press the limits of his own mobility, there's a certain confidence (arrogance) that sinks in as the seconds tick on with room to breathe.

High ground. She'll aim for that first.

The bodies are stepped over, ignored largely aside from passing glances designed to try and identify where they're from - what might have happened. It's been a process of understanding, following the intermittent shifts in landscape: more often than not, she's learned, it's specific. Targeted.

Is this Locus' reflection?

A question she mulled over as she clambers up the nearest cliff face, darting deftly across ledges until she's perched atop its plateau, exhaling once with a long glance outwards - committing it to memory. Truthfully, his odds (even with her unwillingness to kill him) don't seem good. Transformed as he is now, stopping the nightmare might not come quick enough to help him, might not save him at all; if he dies here, this— the memories she's kept, the data that she's stored— is the only evidence of his suffering that'll exist.

Considering that they were friends, that she was close enough to even consider letting him join Talon, Sombra supposes she owes him this much. A personal confession that has her glad Cortana's too absent to hear. It isn't weakness; she isn't so compromised. Just...

Sometimes you have to pour one out over your losses before you move on.

"Lo siento, Soldado." The nail of her thumb catches as she scuffs it absently across her lower lip. "You should have been stronger."

If it sounds cruel, it isn't meant to be.