My dying eyes remain fixed on the swordsman, who has left me half-slain and moved on toward a deer.

Here, the lover is like wounded prey lying on the ground, his fading eyes still helplessly fixed in devotion on his executioner—the beloved. Yet the beloved is so indifferent that, leaving him half-slain, he casually moves on to hunt fresh prey, a passing deer. It poignantly captures the tragedy of love, where even the agony of a mortal wound hurts less than the beloved's effortless neglect.