Cracking his eyes open to see how his patient is handling the process allows him to see that claw mark on the floor, the metal shredded from it as easily as bark from an old tree. There is a lot about this woman that doesn't make sense, from the lingering magic in her bones to the artificial bits implanted for reasons he can only guess. As much as he wants to question it all, he forces himself to continue.

"Right."

He deems her leg as fully healed, the muscles and skin unblemished, as good as new -- better, if she had any injuries prior to this. With that, his energy recedes from the limb and moves toward her ribs, the fiery sensation going with it. One rib is broken, the bones cracking loudly (and likely painfully) as they realign and mend; another two are bruised, healed at the same time. There's a hairline fracture in another, so he'd better just—

Carlisle's body shakes as a tremor runs through him, his magic nearly escaping him as his undead body struggles to maintain its grasp over energies that counteract his animation; it is reflected in the flow of his channel as it flares, energy slamming through her like a frightened beast trapped in a cage. Though such a sudden burst likely gave his ward a shock (literally and figuratively), at least the influx finished the work on her ribs. Unfortunately, it leaves him relatively drained, and fearing everything will go horribly wrong, he withdraws. The energy retreats from her the way it came, out into his hands -- he pulls them away the moment he feels he can, his arms trembling as he murmurs an apology.

"S- sorry. Sorry sorry, I- I got the leg and your ribs, but- but I shouldn't- shouldn't tend to your arm just yet. It- it's not..."

He trails off. Pointing out how unsafe it is for him to keep doing the one thing he feels is his purpose in life is a unique kind of pain, and one he's still not sure how to handle... even if evidence to the contrary is right before him, evident in her now-missing injuries.