His distraction (and her current isolation) means she doesn't take his frustration personally. It's a lot to take in— to tolerate or shrug off— expecting anyone to keep a level head when they've been literally held captive is a steep order, even by her standards.

"If you say so."

So instead she lifts her gun, leveling it at those grasping limbs and tilting her head off to one side, as though she's making offhanded calculations as to whether or not it'll pan out cleanly. "Try not to move, vaquero. I'm not in it to hurt you."

Which is all the warning he gets before she's fired: a quick set of scattered bursts aimed far enough away to graze the flesh of his distorted, humanoid chains. A means to make it easier to pry him loose. She isn't so careless as to get herself equally as stuck by jumping in with her own bare hands right off the bat. Better to have an edge first.

A test to see if damage alone might get the job done.