Precisely as she is designed to be. A nymph is built for two things - her element or piece of nature, and sex. It's simply how they are. She sees no shame in being what she is, but that doesn't mean it's constantly on her mind.

"I do not understand all your words," she smiles up at him, slipping her hand into his. "But it is an endearment? A term for one whom you like? A friend."

As for the rest, she only nods, a little doubtful as to her own permanence. She's supposed to be dead, after all.