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"Pity" is too cruel a word to describe Sakiko's feelings towards her dolls. Pity would imply she sees less of them. It would imply that she mocks them. She's never felt pity towards dolls — only a trace of empathy. Faint, from being drained away, but cognizant at the very least. She is pained by the scrapes on dolls' limbs, their broken eyes, their smeared fabric. She is impressed by their willingness to exist when the distance of life weighs down on them. She makes stages upon which they can mourn, clean and precisely kempt. She is hopeful that after being strangled by her cold hands, they may eventually find their way to places better than her.
No, pity… pity is an emotion she reserves for puppetmasters — for the wretches who know only how to use. Perpetrators that internalized a craft they never actually wanted, guided by the decisions of other perpetrators, doomed from birth by their lifeless lineage. Those whose cruel desires are not even theirs… those whose flesh-biting tendencies exist only from fine teaching and imitation. Because Sakiko has learnt that once you step into this muck, there is no return. You could grow as many times as you like, take on as many titles as you please — but Monster is a name you can never change. Even if you desire to discard the strings you hold, the lines they leave on your fingers will stay forever.
A doll has sympathy from those similar, solidarity and support from those who want better. A monster can only find solidarity from those as cruel as them — those who made them into the wretches they are.
It's either that or the grave.
That is why Sakiko does not expect sympathy. She does not expect support. She is no longer capable of being loved. So goodbye, to the Sakiko who saw herself in another's song. Goodbye to the Sakiko who desired friendship and affection. Goodbye to the Sakiko who could be held in another's arms. She has drowned that weak, useless self — now she'll live only for herself.