Of course he thought she wouldn't show up. Maybe he even hoped she wouldn't because this is an incredibly stupid idea, but he's had a few of them over the course of his life and almost all of them were born from some sort of anger. Thinking straight isn't one of his virtues and he hates being stuck here just because he might die when one of those blobs hits him. The world as it is just sucks more than it did before sometimes.
His crow bar still in hand he turns towards her slowly, teeth bared in something that is not really a grin. It's a snarl perfectly matching that of the patch on his back and he nods slightly at her, whether in greeting or as affirmation to her words is open to interpretation. Maybe, if he would look hard enough, he might pity her because it is proven that the Wash doesn't let anyone get out of it's claws alive that doesn't have the strength to quit, and he doubts someone like her will. But all he sees is a crazy and very annoying shell of a human that has been grating on his nerves for too long.
"Drugs do an awful lot of fucked up things to the brain," is all he says, standing still as a statue, waiting for her to make the first move. There is not a muscle in his body that is not tense and he welcomes it, because this is so much better than just sitting around waiting for those fucking blobs to stop falling from the sky.