Drag knew full and well activating his high-powered blade wouldn't him do any good. He took his opportunity, and pressed the button with a fist on it, a glowing boxing glove shooting out 5 to 6 times larger then his own hand rocketed out, wrapping around his forearm as he took a march towards Fury. This however, unfortunately singed his radical hoodie, his reptilian flesh having no trouble with the heat. 

Drag also knew that extending his wings wouldn't do much good, either. But, Drag couldn't fly if he even tried in his bearded form. His hammer-space backpack weighed him down far too much for that, and even lifting it was a challenge. His ability to even stand was in it's own right a testament to Drag's strength, or move around for that matter.

He isn't exactly smart, to be honest. Hell, he isn't even the fastest, or the strongest, but Drag had a talent unlike any other. He was the most resourceful rude reptile on this side of the galaxy. The other side was probably like some random alien or something, we don't talk about that.

As Fury came closer, closing the gap, Drag only leaped slightly to the right, his upper half spinning so that way he could use his weapon better. Drag's glorious plasma coated fist was swung directly down into Fury's direction, hopefully somewhere along the lines of his head or shoulders. Getting anywhere remotely close to it would cause burns, and to even be hit with said punch would bring all of the heat with it, and additional force. Drag was, at this time, currently screaming the lyrics to a "Punch Out With Lyrics" or something, as he did all of this.