Edgewalker

She lurches to the side of the ring, leaking blood from her mouth, both nostrils, and – disturbingly – one ear. 

"You've got to call it," I tell her.  "You're taking two hits for every one you give.  You both look like you've been run over by trucks."

It's true.  Her opponent's in bad shape, but I'd be hard-pressed to say who was winning.  The word doesn't seem to have any meaning here.

Hawking a crimson glob to the floor, she leans over.  "I'm staying in."

"Why?  What do you think you're doing out there?"

She grins.  "Winning."

And she is gone.