Katya needs no further encouragement, she really doesn't. Her pitch is higher than Natasha's, built more for cheerfully happy pop than soulful crooning, but she's never really let that stop her.

"Ooooooh, each morning I get up, I die a little -
Can barely stand on my feet..." She croons, impassioned, to the the neck of the mostly-empty bottle of Atlantean. "Take a look in the mirror and cry - Lord what you're doing to me!"