Sylar let him go; he wasn't holding him hard, and even if Peter did step away he wouldn't get far. Healing, dying again, healing, dying. Was this a power he really wanted? He dropped his hands down and let Peter move away, watching him hawkishly, but with no small amount of concern.

"You die," he said, matter of factly, and wondered if Peter was just too proud to admit it or didn't know. But was that really the only possibility? Die and die again. If this was a poison, then it was in his blood, and there was one way to deal with that. Not that he thought often about the problems with immortality. What the powers were had never been a problem; he was only ever interested in having them.

"But it doesn't have to be like this. We could bleed it out of you. It might not get rid of all the poison, but it'd be a start." He tilted his head, rising to move toward Peter, touching his arm again. The shaking was getting worse. "You'd have to trust me. Peter, it couldn't be any worse than this."