Eventually her two halves fall to the ground. Her left side faces up, and her right side is face down, exposing her innards and bones like it's an anatomy model. Not that you ever studied anatomy. Even you know that ponies weren't meant to be in two halves, though. You stand over her, panting, with the bloody axe in your hand. Serves her right. Stupid, stuck up, whiny pony. You turn to leave