This is the stage the gentle advice skips: the clean, almost useful fury that arrives once the shock wears off. It has a metallic taste and a long memory, and for a while it feels less like a wound than like a source of power.
Anger is the part of grief that lets you stand up. It is unfair and it is fuel, and there is a dangerous pleasure in it, a temptation to rehearse the case for the prosecution long after the trial is over.
The music runs hot and sharp-edged, all teeth. Driving low end, a snarl in the tone, a groove that stops apologising and starts pushing back with everything it has.
This is the arc at its most combustible, grief turned outward into fury. Play it when you are done being sad and ready, briefly, to be furious instead.