They worried that he wouldn't see much of anything any more if he refused to get his scratched up eyes examined. What if the shavings had travelled into his head? That seemed like a reasonable worry to a siren who didn't really know how eyes worked.
Catching only the end of Dallas's murmurings as they rejoined him on the floor, they tried to urge him into his side, fearing what might happen if they managed to pluck some metal free only to drop it squarely into his pupil. “We can worry about that after we fix your face,” they scolded gently, moving to pry Dallas's lower lid open.