Of course the servant flees. She'd be tempted to flee, too. She was tempted to flee, even. ... And then did the opposite of fleeing, good job, Imarivet.

She sighs and is very very paranoid about keeping the food away from the shifts that could potentially be made less snow-white by spilled food. To stretch out the time that she has something to do, she eats slowly, but this doesn't last nearly long enough. Then there's nothing to do. Again. Napping isn't even an option. While she didn't get enough sleep the night before, she thinks with her nerves all she'd accomplish is getting a part of the ceiling a pair of holes burned right through it from her staring.

So she returns to her old ally; pacing.