One arm at locked in a mutual hold, the other restrained and unable to aim her weapon, Morrigan was in a very precarious position. She growled and tried to wrench herself free but the hold was at much too awkward an angle for her to escape easily. The fact that she was going to lost to a miscreant like this was beginning to get to her, breaking through the carefully maintained façade of cool, calm sternness that she upheld whilst in command. It broke even more so as she felt the long, knife-like fangs sink into her neck with little resistance. She gasped out a yelp of pain and felt tears sting at her eyes, this was not good at all. With the pressure being applied to her neck, it was becoming harder to breathe and the white sparks flying from Leo's maw only confirmed that.

But with him bent over, on the ground and her arms near his centre of mass, she felt there was only one thing she had left to do. The troops had all retreated at this point, leaving the battle as a conceded draw. Morrigan felt that maybe the battle she was fighting should mirror that of her troops. With her arms locked, she dropped Red Rum, and as it clattered to the ground she took a handful of his fur in each of her taloned hands. Using both his centre of mass and the anchor he had on her neck against him, she tried tilting back and pulling in an attempt to perform a sort of suplex and break the grab so she could pick up her gun and beat a hasty retreat. She felt her muscles straining as she struggled to pick him up, but hoped that the reserves she had left was enough to perform this manoeuvre and flip him off of her.