Admittedly, Nerys hasn't given up, not exactly. She's just found it difficult to make time to do thorough analysis--they didn't even have paper here for months, which didn't help, nor did the fact that everything seemed to have exceptions that did anything but prove the rule. It's slipping, she can tell, back into survival mode. That's what's done it to her.

She worries a lot about whether people like Picard and Beverly and others judge her for it. She certainly judges herself.

"It seems, from what Mark--Watney, the botanist--and others have said, that the flora are all from a particular Earth biome. I'd wager that includes things that are inedible, if it's a straight-up copy, but without antitoxins, it's not worth testing the theory." With a grimace, she takes a sip of her drink. "Even if it doesn't kill you, making you sick isn't exactly a pleasant prospect around here." She remembers trying to doctor Beverly with a tisane and kind words. That was frustrating enough, it must be hellish for a medical professional.