Sweeney was a dog. He didn't like being a dog. Not one minuscule bit. Nor did he particularly care for being stuffed inside a purse like some sort of toy or ornament. It made him feel unimportant and helpless. Not that Mad Sweeney was all that important in the grand scheme of the world, but he didn't care for feeling unimportant. Helpless because what was he going to do? What could he do other than turn on her with his little teeth and toenails, something that could easily be averted with a strong hand.
This is what the man who picked fights for the sheer joy of them was reduced to. Mad Sweeney was reduced to a canine existence. He could only hope it was temporary and the vile Djinn didn't decide to keep him that way permanently. Certainly The City would have something to say about that.
He hoped.
He wriggled within the purse, not at all pleased about being kept within, thrown enough of a fuss that anyone would notice he was in there. Or at least that something was in there. He wanted out!