  He wants to stick a knife in your eye. If not a knife, then anything sharp and pointed. He wants it to burst. He hopes it will pop like a balloon. Spurt the vitreous humor everywhere. Laughing all the time. He would clamp your head, so you couldn't move, couldn't escape. Rig up the knife so he didn't have to hold it.
So it remained a fraction away from your eye. So close you can't even focus on it's tip. So close, if you blink it will cut your eyelid. Then he will push. Very, very slowly at first. To see if the lens bends from the pressure. Then, all in at once. It makes him laugh, each and every time. Watching you keep so still, watch you praying that it's all a bluff, that someone, anyone, will break down the door and rescue you.
But no one will come. No one does come. Pressing home. Piecing. Screaming. But you've still one eye left. Giggling he approaches with the knife. 
