If Ody were that size, Crichton would have died, but luckily she has no emotional connection to this starry beast. Valdis leaps onto its back without hesitation, her sharp claws digging into the 'flesh' and her teeth gripping the crab to pull it away from the building. The rage of the metal weasel fills her senses, along with the fear of the person shooting. It's all soothing and easy to slip into. Like war.