He repeats himself, his hand curling on the pavement, his fingers stained from the ink seeping beneath his nails. His entire body trembles as he struggles to put emphasis on his decision. "Pull. It. Out."

Carlisle isn't worried about the blood loss so much as the energy he's expending, which is getting worse the more his body tries to give up on him. The shears in his back prevent him from fully healing himself -- his energy hits the foreign object and balks back the way it does against a construct or a golem limb. He can't keep himself alive forever; his double knew that well, even if he did misjudge his counterpart's tenacity. Desperation can push a man to his limits, and when it came to keeping Glacius safe from someone who looked like him, and presumably compel people in the same way, Carlisle was definitely desperate.