Okay, that was it. The metaphorical straw that broke the metaphorical camel's back. Claire turned on her heels quickly, reaching up with her flashlight hand and, without releasing her grip on the object, shoving Elle backwards with her fist.

"My damage," she made sure to emphasize the word spitefully, getting in her face, "is that, in case you didn't notice? We're stuck in some creepy asylum. So, maybe you're comfortable with everyone around you thinking you're crazy, but I'm not. I'd actually like to get out."

So, in some ways, it was probably just a little unfair to take out all of her pent up rage on Elle when it was quickly becoming obvious that the girl had no idea what was going on. But, Elle had never been fair to her -- why did she deserve the courtesy if she wasn't willing to extend it to other people? She didn't. If she realized how hardened this proved her to be, Claire made no indication of it.

There were some things you just needed to do in order to be mentally and emotionally prepared for dealing with this place, and it wasn't exactly the conducive kind of psyche to dealing with Elle Bishop. Or Sylar. Or both at once.

She really should have taken Peter up on his offer to stick around her through the night.