I'm a fighter; I'll forever be the last one standing

It was still a mad dash from her families compound through the woods and towards the stonewall that encircled the perimeter of the property. She wasn't sure at what point she got wounded but she never realized it until she was miles away and her hip was throbbing and she was limping enough for her shift to start pushing to the surface. She ran harder, further south until she smelled the scents of the city. There was more metal here and she was sure she could smell the fumes from the cars. Her brain shut down, her main focus to find a place to shift on her own before her body forced her to.
She hit the snow in the park just as her body shivered. She moved further in, dropping down under the boughs of a tree, her left hand raised to her hip, slippery in the blood and she raised her fingers so she could see it and made a noise of alarm. Her chest rose in quick, sharp breaths as the realization that she was truly alone sunk in.
Her fingers scramble at her hip, digging in the wound for the bullet she knew was still in her. Her fingers were slippery and she was unable to fully get a grasp on the metal before the change overtook her. Her bloody palm was placed against the tree trunk as she hunched over in pain as the change came quickly. She felt the fabric of her clothing push at the seams, maybe this time; they'd still be intact. She always felt somewhat blessed to have been given the gift to change into something smaller than her body. Otherwise she'd be going through clothing like it was no ones business.
When the change finished and black tipped ears poked out of the collar of her shirt did she turn her attention back to her wound. She was curled up beneath the fabric of her shirt until she realized that a very important piece of fabric (important to her human brain) was still wrapped firmly around her body. This was why she never wore bras. She wiggled her way out from under the shirt, twisting to try and bite through the fabric. When she had no luck she turned her attention to her wound and running her tongue over the blood and somewhat mangled flesh.