Tony shook his head, "No way on me. As soon as it gets intense, there's not much more than instinct to work off of. I can talk about things and plan things here, in a controlled and safe environment, but I am not someone you can look to for good judgment in the middle of a fight. That's not how it works." 

Sure, Tony had a background, but it was a day to day thing, an office and dealing with people within the confines of civilization. In a fight, when the blood was up, lycanthropes were as fast, strong and resilient as anything, just about, but their instincts took over, their primal nature brought to the fore, muting the intelligence of the human. It was a form in flux and enraged, and not even able to properly speak more than a couple words -- and he'd never bothered to try. 

But he knew his own limitations; he'd learned them a while ago in deciding how to stay fundamentally out of the society of the Courts and the parallel city of the supernatural and preferred to stay in the mortal world, doing mortal work and forking over a tithe to de Lacy so he could be left alone and in peace. Nemsemet put an end to it and dragged him into this world against his will, forcing him to face things he didn't want to face. He didn't like shaving in the mirror and thinking of the thing inside him that cut loose in some swampy jungle, killing, perhaps eating, people indiscriminately, operating off pure instinct. He already wasn't liking the idea that he might harm someone he knew or didn't want to harm in this situation, and it's why he advocated not going anywhere near the Steak Knife, but picking off a lone vampire instead.