Answer:
Although my cow is dead, I still beat her. What a racket she makes!
With pointed fangs it sits in wait. With piercing force it doles out fate, over bloodless victims proclaiming its might. Eternally joining in a single bite.
Put into a pit, locked beneath a grate, guarded through the night, yet it still goes out.
Late afternoons I often bathe. I'll soak in water piping hot. My essence goes through. My see through clothes. Used up am I - I've gone to pot.
This is in a realm of true and in a realm false, but you experience me as you turn and toss.
If itβs information you seek, come and see me. If itβs pairs of letters you need, I have consecutively three. What am I?