Gavroche doesn't react visibly to the idea of a child like him killing other children. To an adult, a dead child is a tragedy. To a dead child, another dead child is either a casualty or a brave end.

"If all the krauts did was kill us, I wouldn't hate them near so much." He doesn't have the words for it, but what he truly hates them for is for changing the spirit of his home and destroying his image of the people around him. The country that he loved and felt safe and happy in had turned into an evil place of hunger and paranoia, and the neighbors he previously trusted became traitors for extra rations, or even took out petty grievances by making up that someone else was a spy. Gavroche hated the change he saw in the people around him, hated the cowardice he perceived in those he once admired. He hated the anxious feeling of being watched and controlled at all times, the looming threat of traitors and monsters around every corner. Much better to die in a fight like the heroes in the storybooks, so at least someone can die as themselves.

"Besides," Gavroche shrugs, gesturing his cigarette towards Scout. "Scout killed kids and girls, and he's cool."

Scout grimaces, avoiding eye contact. He clearly would have preferred to stay out of the conversation.