If she took a swing at him he might feel better. It's best that she not, though. Probably he'd end up hitting her right back and he has the feeling they wouldn't get along so well after that. She takes his shit better than just about anyone who ain't family ever has, but everyone's got limits.

"Busy little ant," he marvels, with a low whistle. He's not even watching her at this point. There's gotta be something around here, right? One of the biters, or two or five of them. He's not gonna get a moment's peace to get drunk but maybe beating the shit out of something will do just as well.

When there's finally a rustle in the distance, he's halfway thrilled to go after it.