The second Vinnie collapsed, Char with hit with a rush of what could have been triumph or lightheadedness. The poison was making it kind of hard to tell by that point. Really, he had nothing to be proud of: he had only just narrowly won a victory against something that was weak to both of his types, and only had access to one of its attacks. And a Pyrrhic victory at that; sure, he got to prove... whatever it was that he'd been trying to prove, but Vinnie had messed him up real good. His hand was red and sticky with his own blood; he was gonna be feeling that bite for days, no doubt. He was muddied, bloodied, bruised, and splattered with vomit. The sludge that had trickled off of him already left behind angry red, burning skin in its wake. Little more than a symptom of what was going on inside his system: that poison hadn't gone anywhere. He needed an antidote fast if he wanted to stay standing much longer.

So naturally, he continued to favor being an utter shitlick over having any sort of sense of self-preservation. "What was that, Vinnie? Couldn't hear you." Sardonic and savagely proud, no matter how rough his condition. Few things could beat the raw satisfaction of taking down one of Red's. He continued those slow, wavering steps toward Vinnie. Were they getting unsteadier?

"Don't even know why you keep tryin'." Were his words a little more slurred than a second ago? "Y'can't win. You goddamn failure." Was he looking at Vinnie? Since when had things gone so blurry? Another step. Another. They were getting... harder, somehow. A dull, throbbing ache that spread and intensified with each movement -- it was in his skin, in the pit of his stomach, burning in his throat, pounding in his head. White-hot stabs of pain bloomed like starbursts, cloudied his vision even further. Char was vaguely aware of his arms wrapping around his stomach, of bending double, of something warm against his forehead. All Vinnie's fault. Oughta kick his shit in. But somehow... his leg wouldn't move?

Oh. Because he was bent double on the ground. Right. That explained what the warm thing was, then. Vinnie. A trembling hand braced itself on Vinnie's stomach and strained to push Char upright again, but the poison had claimed too much. He couldn't do it. If he'd only had a few more seconds in him, if he'd thought to bring a Pecha berry, if he'd just set the punk on fire from the get-go... Ah. Screw it.

The pain was getting worse, his breath coming in strained, feverish pants. He was in for one hell of a ride before the poison was going to pass from his system. Even so, the last cloudy, muddled thought in his mind before unconsciousness claimed him too was how incredibly worth it that all was.