She doesn’t remember very much of her mortal life. She has a sketch of the basics, but that’s more from extrapolation than a firm memory. Most of those are of the dungeon she died in. This likely has something to do with continuity of memory more than anything else. After rising again as a vampire, she spent much of her new life there, but from the other side of the bars. It was easy to hold onto the memories of slowly wasting away in damp, decrepit darkness, covered in a germinating film of her own filth. Of being fed on rats and begging her captor to at least let her cook them. It’s easier to remember something when you see it play out again and again in front of you.
The memories of sunlight and warmth are fleeting. Really, when properly scrutinized, her mortal memories are more encyclopedic than anything else. Herbs and chemical compounds, their uses in medicine and healing, their common locations of growth or creation. What makes up a healthy human diet and the importance of keeping wounds clean. She thinks she could set bones, once, but that skill has atrophied from disuse. So, probably she was some kind of healer. An herbalist, or alchemist, maybe. Humans during that period of time would certainly value that profession. It’s just the sort of thing she’d decide to do.
Then she was snatched away from that hazy and distant life of flora and sunlight. Thrown into the damnable dungeon she died in. Her blood drained regularly by the man that would eventually turn her. Apparently, she’d been pretty delicious.Worth keeping alive, instead of draining dry and discarding. Lucky her.