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You do mourn Harrow, of course. You're not a monster.
It's a curious type of grief, because here she is in front of you, still carrying that ungainly sword for reasons you cannot fathom, still wandering the Mithraeum and looking lost. Yet you mourn her as if she's already gone. All that talent, all the sacrifices the Ninth House made for her, all her grief for a lost cavalier... such a waste.
You didn't lie when you told her you would have enjoyed her as a daughter. In some ways she's a lot like you; her power comes from a well of grief she didn't choose to draw from—hers is filled with the dead young of her House, yours with the lives of those long-ago earthlings. And she is charming, in her awkward, half-formed way. It will be such a a pity when Gideon... "fixes" her.
Because this? There's no fixing this.
You try to engage her in conversation, buy her attention with baked goods and tea, desperate to create memories of what you have to lose, and she just sits there and looks uncomfortable. She doesn't want God to be a friendly face. From what she's told you, Priamhark and Pelleamena taught her that her God was a vengeful God.
But you're not. You're not a monster.
It really is too bad. Of all your lyctors, she has most endeared herself by simply existing. She doesn't put on a show. You know where you stand with her, and where you stand is sheer perfection. She hasn't seen you drunk or depressed or even a little grouchy. Such a shame. She could have grown into such a magnificent tool. Not that you would strictly classify her as a tool. That would be silly.
After all, you're not a monster.