Her arm screams in protest at her rough treatment, up and on her feet again before he can react properly. Before he can take another of her limbs--and properly this time. Skin crawling at his shriek, she skitters backwards along the platform, feet stepping around the things littered there. He's going to rush her in a moment, she can feel it and not being within arms reach will at least help.

And there comes the claws, a hairs breath away from her back, she can feel the wind from the missed strike as she scans the chaos for small horns. She has to go. She has to run.

Anything at hand is shoved into some bag, eyes watching for the next strike. Her brain ignores her arm long enough for her to grab a few things that look like food and something that looks like it might hold water. She's not thinking, she not preparing, what she gets is dumb blind luck.

"Fuck you."