The hunger gnashes its teeth. It doesn't want to listen. R does. It's not a good middle ground here as he fights the urge to open his eyes and try that whole lunging thing again. If Joan sees all this perspective, then it'd be a lot easier to nip her frontal lobe and soak it up like a sponge.

"Mggh," R mutters into his muzzle. "Can't. Didn't...stop...last..."

R dissolves into wordless groaning, the same kind that had wandered around and around Joan Watson's boulder her first night in the Arena.