My OC: Dagger's Story (Part 2)

Plan

I crouch down in the corner of my room, rocking from side to side. It's time, time to escape. I've waited too long. I have let them push me around for 15 years. But that ends now. I will get out.
I hear the beeping sound of someone opening my cell from the outside, and the door cracks open. Nurse Patty, the overly-excited staff member who treats us like babies, pokes her head in.
"I just wanted to check in on you!" she exclaims, a big smile plastered across her face. "Everyone else is playing games and doing crafts. Do you want to join them?"
I snarl at her, and she jumps. "Okay, then. I'll just... be going now! Ha, ha." She ducks out of the room and closes the door, leaving me alone. I peek out the barred window in the cell. It's in the evening, which means in about an hour, the nurses will close up for the night, leaving only the night watchmen to patrol the asylum. I can take them out in a single punch.
Or stab. I sneak a glance at my stump, and it looks like the bedspring has finally stuck to my skin. It's nice and sharp on the end. Sharp enough to make a scream, and blood, and pain. I smile, closing my eyes. Lots and lots of pain...
***************
I open my eyes. I must have dozed off. My back hurts from crouching this long, so I straighten it out and stand up, stretching. Outside, it's dark. I put my ear up against the door.
Silence. They've left for the night.
I use my bedspring to pick the lock, and then I slowly open the door. The hallway is illuminated only by the occasional dim lightbulb. I can just make out Ricky, the head night watchman, asleep at the end of the hallway. I quietly close the door behind me and crawl down the corridor.
Now I strike.
The end of the bedspring perfectly penetrates his skin, going deep into his neck. His eyes fly open, wildly searching. He makes a gagging sound, and blood trickles out of his mouth. I shove the bedspring in further, my eyes glittering as I see his pain. His gaze meets mine, and I see fear in his eyes. He knows it's me. He knows who I am. He knows he won't survive.
I wrench the bedspring out, and instead, I carefully scrape out his eyeballs, one by one. They'd look beautiful on a chain. But I can't keep them, sadly. There's no time. I take his gun and walkie-talkie, and leave him to bleed to death.
To suffer.
As I walk down the twisting maze of hallways, the sounds of his gagging fade, and I know that he'll die within the minute.
They never last long.