In the darkness, a satisfied smile formed on the face of Ishimaru Moroe. There was nothing quite like the pleasure of watching an arrogant enemy writhe in agony on the ground, humbled and broken. Though this particular enemy wasn't broken yet, her attitude towards it was already shifting. She'd witnessed its desperate attempts to regain balance, heard its hacking coughs and smelt the blood which it vomited up; And most importantly, she'd sensed its fear. Fear marked the difference between predator and prey.

"There's only one way to win a game of cat and mouse: Don't be the mouse."

When the beast glared at Moroe, she glared back. When it growled, she stood unflinching. When it backed away, she advanced. Her attitude was that of a dangerous rival who had already hurt her enemy in ways it couldn't comprehend, and who stood ready to eviscerate it as soon as it offered an opening. It was very important that she reinforce this impression, because in reality she was a small bag of meat facing down an armoured behemoth. She needed said behemoth to carefully circle her, as it now did, so that she had time to ready a grenade. She needed the preparation for its next pounce to be visible and predictable, so that she could time the explosion to happen just as it leapt. And she needed the beast to fear that explosion, because she doubted that the grenade would be capable of doing real damage to it unless that horrendous mouth opened in shock. Combined with the rifle fire she'd be sending out at the same time, she hoped to inflict a lot of harm; 'Hoped' being the operative word.

"I'm not the mouse. I'm not the mouse..."