She'll thank him later, perhaps, when her lips don't taste like his and her pride and heart aren't so wounded. Her mind is muddled and her emotions are haywire. It feels like when she first turned and she doesn't like feeling like she's out of control. This poor guy is on his own emotional roller coaster, he doesn't need to be on hers.

"Thank you," she murmurs, glancing at him before she moves to slide out the door. "I'm sorry." And with that, she closes the door behind her, scrambling down the steps to get back to her own house, actually grateful no one will be there to greet her so she can just... stress clean the whole house.