[align=center]
The flexibility of the feline failed to surprise her - she witnessed the training spars of these mammals, and she knew the feline model seemed particularly good at flipping around. Regardless, with the twisted condition and her own eyes high on her head, the claws ripping into her scaled face bothered her little. Her blood dripped down her face, sliding into her mouth or down her chin, mingling with the smilodon's flesh. The taste of them were indistinguishable; still, Delta understood she won first blood. As she expected to.
Bracing her feet on the ground, she attempted to rip her head back and tear off the chunk of flesh between her teeth. She would have preferred if her original and usually primary strategy worked - crushing the spine or throat with her sickle claw was a quick death blow and got the fight over quickly. But her teeth, backwards-facing and backed up with a decent bite force, could do their own damage. She usually ripped chunks of flesh off of corpses rather than live prey, but the principle was the same and came easily to her with the countless amounts of practice she did. Though she didn't often kill this way, she understood that everything needed blood; the gushing torrents that came from a severe wound could kill just the same as a claw to the throat, though admittedly much slower and agonizing.
Backing up, she ignored the sharp sting in the side of her face where he'd scratched her and thwacked the bone, but she didn't act like that bothered her. Animals hardly ever showed their pain, especially in the middle of a fight and Delta certainly wasn't an exception to this primal rule. For now, she studied him, analyzing the wound's severity and guestimating with her intelligence the likelihood of him dying from blood loss. Her lips pulled back in almost mocking smirk as she stared him down, ready to wait for his slow death - or renew her relentless attack at a moment's notice.
Bracing her feet on the ground, she attempted to rip her head back and tear off the chunk of flesh between her teeth. She would have preferred if her original and usually primary strategy worked - crushing the spine or throat with her sickle claw was a quick death blow and got the fight over quickly. But her teeth, backwards-facing and backed up with a decent bite force, could do their own damage. She usually ripped chunks of flesh off of corpses rather than live prey, but the principle was the same and came easily to her with the countless amounts of practice she did. Though she didn't often kill this way, she understood that everything needed blood; the gushing torrents that came from a severe wound could kill just the same as a claw to the throat, though admittedly much slower and agonizing.
Backing up, she ignored the sharp sting in the side of her face where he'd scratched her and thwacked the bone, but she didn't act like that bothered her. Animals hardly ever showed their pain, especially in the middle of a fight and Delta certainly wasn't an exception to this primal rule. For now, she studied him, analyzing the wound's severity and guestimating with her intelligence the likelihood of him dying from blood loss. Her lips pulled back in almost mocking smirk as she stared him down, ready to wait for his slow death - or renew her relentless attack at a moment's notice.