He’ll pay more attention to the dust now.
It smells a bit like...
He sticks a finger in his mouth, wetting the remains.
“Who are you? Who... Flavia.” he murmurs, wrinkling his nose. “...and a slight taste of living metal... where have I tasted that before...”
Blinking more carefully again, as to avoid more ridiculous blood tears, he coughs suddenly, gagging on the idea that has just tickled his nerves like a finger in a socket.
“Of course. That bloody bird. It smelled like this, the Hand. The Hand! But that means... Rassilon killed her... she must have opposed him, but... surely it wasn’t just that. The man is calculating.”
He speaks again, again to himself, and again to the cold pile of dust re-settling in his hair, newly-abandoned by his probing fingers as they lower, lost in the baggage compartment of his train of thought. Sifting the details like cake flour.
“Killed Flavia. The day Number Ten Son and I made nice, when I used the Gate to copy myself. And then the 10-point star diamond...the Doctor helped me find my answers... that the signal was placed in my head by Rassilon, when I was a child, when I stood before the Schism... The Doctor and I made up... I was grateful, ready to leave... so I protected my idiot and his pets from the old bastard... I told the Doctor to get out of the way, so I could shoot the diamond... burned a few years to force Rassilon back into the Time Lock with me... Not surprising he killed her, really. But what does it mean?”
He shoves his fist sideways, smashing into the rest of the coffin.