The cornered animal act is getting strenuous. She's used to the person cornering her attacking by now. Nobody in her family is particularly subtle, much less patient. Why hasn't he struck her yet? What does he want?

Joan has the very real feeling that she's being played. She's going to lose, she knows, but damn her if she doesn't go down swinging.

"Yeah," she says, finally. She gets up slowly, never taking her eyes off him. "I could. Just need my bag."

The bag on the hood of the car, which, admittedly, does have the supplies she needs in there. Joan was never much for quick thinking where lies are concerned. But more importantly, it has the only gun she's got left.