The sick feeling roiling in Frisk's stomach isn't just from the buttercups, and they kick the offending slice of pie away from them both in a panic. The damage is already done, though, and they shake their head helplessly. "I-I don't know...!"

Their mind races, metaphorical wheels spinning trying to figure out what to do. They balk at the idea of calling Toriel, but what...who...a dizzy wave of nausea blooms and Frisk curls up with a pained groan, their vision blurring with tears.