Wrong. Dick was wrong. That was the sort of logic that Batman had tried to use on him, but Jason knew better. He was very different from the psychos he was being compared to. They hurt people. They terrorized innocents. They destroyed lives. The Red Hood targeted evil. He gave the public justice in ways that the police and Batman wouldn't. He was doing the right thing; he was everything that Batman was supposed to be, because there was no other way that the streets, especially back in Gotham, were ever going to be safe again if the bad guys just kept on walking away. If Batman could see things the way that he did, everything would change. In all the ways that the thought terrified Dick, it gave Jason hope. Gotham could be better. It could be the place that Bruce had dreamed of, if only he'd bring himself to cross that line he stood so firmly against.
But it was about more than just cleaning up Gotham. What Jason was trying to accomplish here was personal. Batman had betrayed his Robin by letting the Joker live. He would see that in time.
"You're too closed-minded," Jason countered, "you don't want to see how much better the world would be if we'd just wipe out crime permanently." The head strike found it's mark. Jason could tell that he'd hit Dick hard enough to daze him, but not enough to stop him from reacting. The downside to headbutting someone with a mask as hard as his was? It kinda went both ways. The interior of the mask had rattled with the force of the blow, hitting Jason in the face the same time his mask had struck Dick. It wasn't nearly as hard a hit, but it left Jason contemplating the downside of his action long enough for Dick to bring his escrima up to smack him in the face.
Bits and pieces of red shattered, jagged edges falling into Jason's mask and slicing him all around his cheek, jaw, and eyes. The right side of his mask remained intact; the opposite end had caved in, red mask blending in with the blood that began to spill from the wounds that his own costume had created. Jason stumbled, jerked his head to the side, and tried to shake the blood out of his eyes.
He wasn't blinded. Not entirely.
On the flip side, he was pissed. Red Hood launched himself forward, hoping to corner Nightwing against the brick wall behind him. As he rushed him, Jason dropped another gun into his grip. He was done playing. Between the mask and heavy flow of blood splattering down his face, the only thing that made it apparent that the Red Hood's mask had been cracked wide open was the angry blue eye that Jason used to aim his weapon, which he fired without hesitation.