Love of gore

This is just a quick blog today. I'm planning on posting a review a little later in the week, so I thought I'd better fill the space in between describing my recent discovery - said discovery being the breaking revelation that I may in fact have finally lost it!
Today I've been working on the fifth book in my 'Hunted' series, editing and just running through basic checks and fix ups before I continue writing. For those of you that have read 'The Hunted' and have been following the story of Elena Manory, you'll know that my lead character is very strong and self assured. I've always loved this about her, especially watching her grow as each novel progresses. But now I've also noticed that my character immersion may go above and beyond. I might essentially have a screw loose and not necessarily in a good way. I find that I'm getting lost in her adventures, my heart accelerating at the thought of ripping out throats and my fingers shaking as I fly over the keypad, Elena kicking some serious butt!
So it would seem that while most find their hearts a flutter at the steamy encounters between Elena and her male counterparts, I seem to get the most excited about her stuck in the middle of a battle sequence or wreaking terror on her opponents. I think this may relate to some latent psychopathic tendencies I have or possible fantasies of becoming a vampire and wanting to drain blood from every 'High Fiver' I find! (Kidding)
So, tell me. Is it crazy getting psyched up over lines like this or just plain creepy! Let me know!

Kristy :)

"I stopped, stiffening as the sound of a growl to the right of me broke my concentration. I looked up from the path, catching the glint of silvered eyes in the light of my torch—sharp teeth, and pointed claws reiterating the danger I’d knowingly sought.

I took a deep breath, studying the creatures with clinical detachment. I refused to let emotion rule me, or the instinctual reaction to scream when seeing something inhuman and innately frightening appear. They were not unlike the Vânătors. They were wolves or hounds—hellhounds I expect. They had teeth just as long and sharp, eyes and senses keen for blood as any wolf. The only difference—no fur. They were marred with scabs, cuts and festering wounds covered in leeches and maggots—walking piles of rotting flesh with teeth and a bloody agenda." (Excerpt 'The Delivered')