Childish or not she'll be in good company; Daryl's gonna be hovering a hell of a lot more than usual in the coming weeks, checking in on his people if only for the illusion that it'll make a difference. There are, honestly, very few things that scare Daryl; that's not bravado, just fact. He's scared of dying, sure, but mostly because he'd be of no use to anyone then. He's more scared of getting back up and taking a bite of of folks he gives a shit about. Most of all, though, he can't stomach the idea of being the last man standing-- of going on alone without anyone to keep him walking. Every goddamn loss brings him too close to that.

So he's in no hurry to shake her, to be alone.

He looks down at his hand like he's forgotten about the scrapes. It's not bad enough that he wouldn't get by without anything more than washing it out, but he's not going to turn down the attention right now. So he just nods at her.