Well, if he wasn't going to eat, Rocket wasn't going to offer. He had food for himself for at least five or six days, more if he rationed himself. He wasn't going to pretend to be some kind of saint.
"Not a dead end," he said with a breath that could have been a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "But you're about to enter a world of shit. Literally. Five more feet in the direction you're going and you'll sink in some truly foul smelling muck- and I hope you're not squeamish about bugs."
Rocket could have eaten the ones that wandered into his jumpsuit, but he wasn't desperate. Yet.
"Beyond the shit-cave is a fork. I ain't been to the left yet, but the right isn't any better than the bat toilet."