This has gone very wrong, very quickly. Roland has time for this thought. He is not precisely sure how, although he is sure the Capitolites will be only too happy to tell him, and in fairly short order. Roland can recognize when a situation is unsalvagable.

Still, he tries. Giving up is one skill he has never quite perfected. Hell, maybe he's made enough of a mess of this that the gamemakers will bring him back for another arena solely for the amusement value, and things will turn out alright regardless.

One hand takes his necklace in a tight grip, locks it there so as to make sure that particular hand will never open again, because if that treasured gift falls over his head now he is likely never getting it back. "GO FUCK YOURSELF!" he yells, loud as he can so that damned drunken mess lying wherever he'd been dropped will hear it. Then he shoots.

His old skills are still good, and even while being shaken and with all the blood rushing to his head, the bullet hits the thing's wrist and it very quickly loses its grip on Roland's ankle. It drops him, screaming anew, and he wraps an arm around its leg as he passes by.

It's the longest fall he's had in his time in Panem, but only by a little, and with some luck he ends up moving fast enough that the cameras won't be able to pick up his noises of fear.

He is falling headfirst. In actual, measurable time, things are over this time for Roland fairly quickly.