She waits for him to crouch. Once again, she considers running, but he hasn't killed her so far. Visibly steeling herself, she walks to him and turns her back, instinctively tensing when he gathers her up into her arms but not squirming like she had been before.

"Okay. So what do I do? Should I try to punch--" she reaches up one little fist and taps the underside of his throat gently, "--here?"

This isn't comfortable for her, but at the same time, there's something comforting about being in the strong arms of an adult that she doesn't think will hurt her. It reminds her of her dad, who liked to pick her up and swing her around back when Rue was alive and grief wasn't thick in the house.