She asked me why I disliked her. Here is the answer.

I don't like you because I see parts of myself in you that I'm too ashamed to exhibit, and instead, smother with my raucousness and jocularity. I don't like you because you have something that I want (her) and I walk in, flaunting something I think you think you don't own. Maybe you know that, and maybe you know that I know, because really, it isn't mine. Then you play the song, brandishing it like a symbol of your triumph.
You are not like me.
I am also a disaster, but a kinder one. No watery graves - only rough water, maybe a little nausea. If I could torture you, what would I do? Cutyouupintolittlepieces, captain's chair, the rack, slap you hard. No, instead I wish the same tragedy on you, and I think even that is too good for you.
I scramble to collect my dignity.