The oddly-hued blood is not what he would have expected, not that it does anything to deter him. It's hot, it's living, and the rest doesn't matter. In truth, he doesn't have the mental capacity necessary to taste it anymore, the colour little more than meaningless sensory data. Feeding was the priority, the only thing left, and be it animal, alien, or human - meat was meat.

The movement ripped another snarl from his mangled throat, which might have been mistaken for annoyed had he been capable of such things. Instead, it only served to make him clamp down like a dog wrestling for a bone, struggling to keep his grip against the pull - All he managed was to tear away the chunk of flesh, indigo blood flowing freely down his beard, mingling with the thick trails of crimson.

The force of the movement was enough to knock him off balance, and he swayed in an attempt to regain his fragile sense of equilibrium; that in itself proved more effective than the scratching had, the cuts barely fazing him.