Morningside Cuesta Coffee with my bacon, please

When she had fallen, her forelimbs had stretched out before her, taking the brunt of the fall. Her right limb was serviceable, at best, and yet her left was down for the count. Glancing at her shoulder, disjointed and bending in a way it was not supposed to, made her queasy, and she looked away quickly, the limb a messy, bent mess of blood and odd angles. Blood was beginning to flow through the thick of her fur, her left side entirely bruised and battered. At the male's words, she ground, not in the least inclined to try, but she would rather go with him then become a crow-feast here. 

She did not respond immediately, but somewhere near the end of his second sentence she suddenly surged to her feet. Her left limb was held a few inches above the ground, lacking the ability to clutch it close, her body trembling violently as swaying legs sought to hold her thin frame. She blanched at the sudden nausea and pain, but managed through some feat to hold her ground, though fighting a losing battle against nausea at the same time.