Most of the time she hates him with a passion that actually scares her.
Most of the time the mere mention of his name makes her throat close and her fists clench and her whole body tremble; most of the time she's sick when anyone even uses the word "robin", be it in context of Locksley or no.
Most of the time he makes her head hurt and her heart burn and her eyes water and she hates him, she's glad that he went to war and she hopes he never comes back.
Most of the time.
But sometimes, sometimes she loves him so much it hurts, it takes over her entire body and she can't even breathe. She can't move or speak or roll over because her only thought is that he's gone, he left her, he might never come back.
Sometimes she loves him so much that she knows he's just a young boy who didn't know the difference between glory and honor, didn't know that leaving Sherwood meant leaving her. Sometimes she loves him so much that she forgives him for this, that she prays for his return so that she can explain.
But it's worse, to think of him this way. To realize he is a victim to his own innocence, to understand he will return older and wiser and harder. To know she will never get her Robin back, not really.
Love is too complicated, too draining; it requires a strength that Marian isn't sure she has. It is easier, so much easier, to not understand. Anger spurs her, kicks her toward tomorrow while love drags her into the past, into him. She learned a long time ago that it does not do to dwell on memories.
So most of the time ... most of she time, she hates him.
(But sometimes, oh sometimes...)