Roald's thoughts were little more than a string of expletives more often than not not making any particular grammatical sense in relation to one another.  The Ratling was operating mostly on instinct.  Having skulked about most of this ship at one time or another and having stashed small cachets, mostly consisting of rotgut but occasionally homebrewed or small amounts of legitimate Amasec, he motored along on his rather small legs trying his best to avoid being caught out and slaughtered or eaten or whatever this lot would do to one his size.

These were not ideal circumstances for him.  He could, and did, duck back into his hiding places and he was able to fit in places others would not be able to follow, but there were only so many alternate routes and ducting was generally not bullet proof.  What was more, judging by the sounds of explosions, shouts of shock, and incoherent agonized screaming, there was no shortage of explosives creating plenty of shrapnel, fire, and quite likely some rather unpleasant chemical weapons.

It wouldn't be wise to wait anywhere for too long.  Might lead to him ending up far far from friendlies, stuck behind enemy lines.  Might catch friendly fire from someone not particularly keen on waiting for the imp to stick his head out of one hidey hole or another and identify himself as still normal(ish) human(oid).  Might crawl into a cloud of invisible chemicals that would sear his skin and flash fry his insides, or some sort of electrical weapon that would barbecue him instantaneously.  These were not ideal circumstances for him.

Scary, but invigorating.

He heard a mob of them skulking down a hall.  Couldn't really make out words.  Had to double check that they were Cultists and not just perhaps terrified men still on the side of sanity.  Got a decent look at them from above and figured it out fairly quick.  Blood on their heads and shoulders.  Not their own blood.  In deliberate signs and sigils.  Fairly sure he spotted bits of flesh as well.  Not particularly sane these ones.

He took a few deep breaths to prepare himself.  Would need to move quick.  Prepped a few grenades, gripped them in his left hand, then fired off a few rounds from his las pistol to melt the ducting behind him and slid the three grenades across the ducting and down into the mob.  Rushed ahead immediately, feeling the ducting sway slightly from his hurried clambering.  They'd figure it out pretty quick.  Maybe should have moved slower.  Hard to do that considering.  Blasts started coming up from below.  It had been smart to run.

Roald had been waiting for some shout of confusion, or fear, or shock.  Had expected some sort of realization from the mob that their goose was cooked.  It didn't come.  Blast was still close enough he couldn't really discern if there had been one explosion or if they'd all gone off one right after another.  His memory would be of crawling frantically, hoping that no stray round would gut him on the way, a heat, a deafening noise, and then a persistent ringing.

He clutched his las pistol tight, checked to see that his Long Las was still strapped to his back, and continued on deeper into the hidden places of the ship.  Best to put some distance between himself and the ugly aftermath of those explosions.  Hadn't seen any other Ratlings aboard but it wouldn't do to find out when a tiny little Cultist started slashing away at his legs with a knife.  Also would not do to get a surprise colonoscopy from a random las pistol or rifle or really any weapon at all.  Sudden surprise colonoscopies of any design would really mess up his plans for the immediate future.  Very inconvenient.