Her eyes are just dead; utterly devoid of soul or feeling.
When I look at her picture I am reminded of William Faulkner's description of the criminal "Popeye" in the first chapter of his book Sanctuary...
His face had a queer, bloodless color, as though seen by electric light; against the sunny silence, in his slanted straw hat and his slightly akimbo arms, he had that vicious depthless quality of stamped tin...Popeye's eyes looked like rubber knobs, like they'd give to the touch and then recover with the whorled smudge of the thumb on them.