That taunt was recognized, of course, for what it was. He'd taunted people, he'd [i]been[/i] taunted. There was probably some kind of maneuver that could have gotten him out of a window. The fall would hurt, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get away one he did plummet the few flights of stairs. Which meant that he only let his eyes drift to the window.

Not close enough.
Not enough time.

Loki's state of wellness was the last thing Clint was thinking about. If he noticed it at all, it was in hopes that it was enough of a handicap that he could get out of this alive. "It takes a lot to scare me," he noted, as conversationally. Nothing was really in arm's reach to use as any kind of proper weapon. He had his share of experience with swords, but unsurprisingly those didn't just materialize out of thin air when you need them, did they?

The suggestion that Loki didn't plan to kill him wasn't any real reassurance. Death, Clint knew, meant pain normally stopped. The idea of Loki beating him down wasn't really [i]tempting[/i], either. Which meant he had two choices. Go for the bow, probably get [i]zapped[/i] on the way, or try a fairly inexperienced hand at hand-to-hand combat. Never his forte. And probably get zapped that way too. 

Naturally, an Avenger goes for their strength. Which meant Clint was turning and darting for his room, almost scrambling in order to get to that presently open door. Had he gotten in, had he thought it'd do him any good, he might've shut and locked the door. But that'd waste more time than it'd get him, so he opted for simply grabbing that bow - a sharp shake having it unfolding from the more compact form. His quiver was full, and he was nocking an arrow at what definitely looked [i]and actually was[/i] random. In what was truly a stroke of really horrible luck, it was a cable arrow. Great for wrapping around things. Getting fired straight - as straight as he could - at Loki? Not his [i]best[/i] bet.