Severine is this film's femme fatale. Say that five times fast.
Any average man—and quite a few average women—would have their tongues twisted in Severine's presence. But not Bond. Even though Severine is sleek, sexy, and sophisticated, that is the way James Bond likes his cars and his women.
What sets Severine apart from the typical Bond girl role is her anti-hero stance. She's a girl belonging to the bad guy—not as if that ever stopped Bond from making a move. But when he talks to her over a martini (shaken, not stirred, of course), Bond learns that her story is more complicated. She's not just the bad guy's dame.
BOND: You put on a good show. But ever since we sat down, you haven't stopped looking at your bodyguards. Now, three of them is a bit excessive. They're controlling you. They're not protecting you. The tattoo on your wrist is Macau sex trade. You belonged to one of the houses. What were you? 12? 13? I'm guessing he was your way out. Perhaps you thought you were in love. But that was a long time ago.
Severine is a victim of Silva, not a comrade. Brought into this mess against her will by a man, she sees Bond as another man willing to get her out of it:
BOND: I can help you.
SEVERINE: I don't think so.
BOND: Let me try.
BOND: Bring me to him.
SEVERINE: Can you kill him?
SEVERINE: Will you?
BOND: Someone usually dies.
Tragically, the someone who dies ends up being Severine, murdered in cold blood by Silva to prove a point to Bond. Bond wasn't able to save her, after all.