She finds her feet moving forward, almost of their own accord. She comes within petting distance of Aslan, and slowly, slowly, reaches a hand to brush his fur.

She can feel it. Something in the air. Something so pure and good and glorious that Eponine can't express it. Her knees give way, and she ends up sat in the sand, still clinging to Aslan's mane. She's not scared any more. Whatever this creature is, she somehow knows it won't hurt her. Without understanding why, she buries her face in his mane, still sobbing, and murmering,

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry..."