You push the stone off the baby bird, hoping that it will fix something, anything for that matter. The rock rolls off the baby bird and tumbles a bit in your cave. The sounds it makes as it hits the stone floor of your dwelling feels like it bounces off of your walls and pierces into your head as you try to come to terms with what is going on here. Baby bird is not moving. It will never move again. Not likely, anyway.
You push it with your paw again. Maybe it will just spring to life and forgive you for your negligence. Maybe it will bow its head and thank you for trying and then flap away to its home. Maybe it will peck your cave floor, say you have a nice home, and scamper off into the forest to live a full and healthy bird life.
It does not do any of those things.
It just stays where it is. Its tiny beak is open a tiny bit and you can see its tiny tongue. It used to eat food with all that tiny stuff. It might have eaten your dirt offering. Who knows.