There is a slow settling. The settling of satisfaction, and sleep, and also of poison. The distinction is minimal watched in practice. The cat is a little bit more lethargic than a good meal alone would offer, but not necessarily moreso than historical records would indicate the effects of blood loss would cause. Except that this cat has the sort of strange metallic internal ecology that would suggest that a small amount of blood loss would be easily supplemented and yet the lethargy of the wound is greater nevertheless.

It eats quickly, settles the body of the lizard away from the open path against a wall, and then decides to be especially brave after all that has happened and nuzzles you before it curls into a ball and falls asleep. Its wounded paw is nestled beneath its belly, and under its other paw, making for a slightly heavy lift to access properly.

Within the cave, the cat's labored snores rumble softly off the stone walls, laced with titanium. Below you, the sound is absorbed, audio readings indicating something like a heavy mixture of plant or fungal growth to mute the echoing sound. And deep below you, there electronic sensors make no sense as sharp electrical signals arch through the caverns from time to time. 

You know there are people and beasts down there, but how they live is a mystery just barely scratched by a hunting cat now resting and drugged before you.