As soon as his off hand is free, he's using it to untie his other hand free of it's unmoveable grip from the bit of wood he was using as a weapon. He couldn't help the talking out loud that followed, the first burst of actual free speech that didn't directly shoulder the responsibility of keeping him alive. Collins has already heard him in various levels of pissed off, but the venomous one sided conversation that followed was with a noticeably heavier Southern accent, things rounded and stretched out while others were cut short. Honestly, words got out faster this way somehow.

"Gave you so many goddamn doors; you stubborn jackass of a man - 'told you no' my ass. A soft touch of pushback and you swing back into insanity and try to tell me that I said no, like what - like your feelin's are more important than my drawin' air? And you want a connection," he scoffs in condemnation, swapping his improvised spear holding hand so that he could reach down and work on freeing one of his legs, eyes staying locked on Collins, the half mutter of true thoughts tumbling out of his mouth.

"Come here to kill me because I somehow made you feel a thing; don't tell me I popped your fuckin' cherry because you knew what you were doin'. Gotta be joking."