Daryll was on edge. There was fire, there were corpses, and there were robots at various levels of "broken." He was particularly unnerved by that ones which were only probably nonfunctional. His paranoia rose when he saw one attempt to right itself, though it only had one working leg and half an arm, sparking flying wildly from the new gaps in its hull. Luckily, most of its power seemed to drain when it placed its stump arm directly on a metal beam from the ship, sending what Daryll could only assume was a massive jolt somewhere into the rubble, where the other end resided. 
As people converged on Setzer and Gideon, Daryll kept towards the back, opting to, instead of pushing forward, watch their rear. He took position near some sort of ruined wood piece of furniture, keeping its unburnt mass at a short distance, but between his body and the forest. 
It was at this point, while others dealt with this new threat, that Daryll had a minute to think; a luxury he soon regretted. He realized that his normal combat style was dangerous here, amidst the raging Mist. Bits of wreckage moved on their own, fires erupted and were utterly extinguished by the wild magic. As a frequent user of short teleportation, Daryll did not want to think about just how many things could go wrong in such an unstable environment. He felt vulnerable, under equipped, and near blind to the entire situation. Regardless, Daryll had his Gunblade at the ready, prepared to move in case of emergency, and kept his watch while frantic words behind him turned slightly less agitated. 
Daryll's sense of vulnerability, however, was soon overwhelmed by hunger. Nobody had really taken a meal, and the smell of burning flesh brought out his appetite, regardless of will. Daryll started to feel a bit ill at his stomach's visceral reaction, but it did little to curb its demands. He tried to redouble his focus on keeping watch, struggling to push his stomach far out of mind, lest he lose what little it did contain.