The cats weight has pushed him down into the snow and Bucky strains to keep those jaws from getting any closer to his face, all the while worrying that his layers of clothing weren't going to stand up to those claws. He gets a good blast of its hot, stinking breath in his face before suddenly the cat let's out a yowl, releases his arm and turns its attention on someone else.

Sam he thinks, sluggish for a moment before snapping into the mindset that's kept him alive all his years as a weapon. There's no time to do anything else but act.

He scrambles his way back onto his feet and pulls out one of his hunting knives, eyes quickly flicking over the scene to assess the situation and making a decision. The cat, lion? whatever it is, it's big and mean, is too focused on Sam for hurting it to pay Bucky adequate attention. Taking a deep breath he throws himself forwards and onto the animals back, using the metal hands unyielding grip to get a hold on its fur and plunge his knife into it's ribs, close by where Sam's initial strike landed.

Immediately the cat is snarling and wheeling, twisting to try and get on the pest that has hold of it while Bucky holds on grimly for dear life.