She was sinking, down into the darkness that had always been there deep inside her-- until out from the depths rose a red wall of rage. It didn't mean she'd won, it didn't mean she was okay; it was just another half of the frustration and fear that she'd held while playing the ultimate game, but it was something she could use. When she was a soul living in a robot feeling nothing else she'd held onto anger and pain, and if she could only use that to focus herself on what she was fighting (besides everything, always--)

The tentacle is piercing, not binding, and her arms are free; she splays out the fingers of one hand and strikes them with the heel of the other, snapping two of them backwards with a crack and a shriek. She follows the pain back to her immediate reality, lashing out by kicking and writhing against the tentacle; maybe she can't beat it, but at least she can struggle, and maybe hold out long enough for a stalemate.