It's a look that almost seems to have been contagious about the camp; even with the medical response, no one can do anything for the shock of the last day. She gives him a proper look, since his question has opened up that dreaded topic of how they're doing. He'll survive, she decides.

"They'd have to try harder than that to put me down," she deflects without thinking, almost derisive, but her being put down isn't the problem, here. A sigh, and she picks up the oily maintenance cloth before the armadillo can grab it. "...Frustrated, I guess. Thinking of things I could've done-- no, things I'll do if this happens again. What about you?"