"Know what? I'm sorry if I'm not gonna do this the way you want me to, or the way you might. But I will not make an angel out of someone who wasn't an angel. But I can see you have." The Admiral starts to break down; this is pushing it. When he's trying to understand her, the way she moves, the way she changes all at once, the way she keeps changing, too fast to follow. She's becoming a blur, moving faster and faster, like Kara into the storm. Mourning is too lonely. Don't tell me not to make her an angel, when an angel is what she already is.
"And now you've come down here to be in my club, but you're not in my club. You don't know what frakkin' club I'm in 'cause you never asked the right questions." Who could? Not even Brother Cavil saw you at the Cylon parties, and if you're talking about grief -- which you're not, but if you were -- that's a club of one. Apocalypses happen to people, not to nations. The political is only ever personal. "Chief, let's get out of here," says the Admiral, in that voice you know he means it. And Chief pushes, just that centimeter more that could break it all apart, destroy it all and make it dust: "No. Why don't you go? Take care of your precious ship." It's the tone, not the words, that jerks the Admiral's back straight. "Stop it. Stop all of this. 'Cause if you don't, I'm going to have to act on it, now shut up."
Escape velocity at a given point in space is equal to the speed an object would have if it started at rest from an infinite distance, and was pulled by gravity to that point. All the way from the temple to the altar, by vector and speed alone. He's never been headed anywhere but this point, he's saying. Dreams and fantasies or changeling monster, he's always had a destiny, and he is pulling a quick left. If it were Kara or Boomer I'd cheer, no matter how much it hurt, because he really doesn't know, and this is the only way he can know for sure, and you should always tell destiny to go fuck itself, even though the whole point of destiny is that it fucks you right back.
How do you escape velocity, when all your velocity is speeding you toward something unknown and evil and terrifying? What do you do when you're stuck in a box with no way out and no chance at reprieve and no way of knowing if the box exists? Turn into something else. "Great! Do it! Please! For the love of the Gods, please demote me. Get me off your frakkin' ship!"