While Beth aims for the vulnerable throat, Daryl simultaneously drops into a crouching position without letting go of the tail and rips the visor shard across what he can reach of its underside, opening it up. A torrent of the same sticky green fluid is released along with foul-smelling viscera. The creature's contortions quickly become so frantic and violent that he's forced to let go, leaving it to sputter acid across the floor, snarling out its dying rage, before eventually convulsing and collapsing.

Once he's certain the thing is dead, he slowly lets out a steadying breath and looks up at Beth, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in what might be a smile. "You did good."

The anesthetising effects of adrenaline are already wearing off, granting him awareness of his bare skin burning, too, and of the shallow cuts on his palm from his makeshift weapon. He tucks the shard underneath an arm as he regains his feet, wiping his hands on his suit. Then he's reaching to take Beth's hands in his, turns them palm up, and uses his sleeve to thoroughly scrub them off as much as possible.

"Stuff's like acid," he mutters, wishing for something more effective to neutralise it. "Might blister. Keep an eye out for a sink or somethin'." Would a spaceport even have sinks?