Bull grunts, eye flicking over it. "Wish I had a weapon," he grumbles, frustrated, saying it out loud mostly because he knows the way it's going to look, picking up a rock and beating at the thing with it. There's something different about just grabbing the thing with his bare hands like he has been, something that looks different, but bare hands aren't going to do it for a killing blow. Maybe knowing this's not the way Bull wanted to do it will help mitigate how it looks a little in the other guy's mind. Hard to know if that's necessary or not, trying to manage how the other guy thinks of him, but it doesn't seem like the guy's enjoying the fight much so at a guess he's probably not the kind of person who'd understand going a little savage.

Not how the Bull wants to come off, especially with how he's been feeling since he got trapped on the damn train, so he goes ahead and he picks up a rock that's got sharp edges and the right heft but he doesn't use it, shaking out his other hand and feeling a little blood running over it but not looking away from the thing and its slow, erratic movement. Bull will take action if it gets too close to the other guy. Better if he doesn't have to.