She had effectively called him for having no leg to stand on--and it made him angry. This was a glitch in programming. Weapons did not have anger. They did not get caught up in fury and they did not react to anything with emotion. Or they weren't supposed to. It was when he got sloppy, when his work didn't quite match up to expectations.
And he was angry now.
So what are you gonna do, Trigger? Throw a knife at her? Come on. The voice was right; throwing the knife was a bad move. But he would still be able to--To what? Death-glare her? Come on, get out of there.
He straightened his shoulders and took a couple of steps backward, unable to process quite what he should be doing. Leave, probably, but--But fucking nothing. Go on.
"This is far from over, Santana," he said. "I don't require your permission for anything." Yeah, tough. Real tough. Shut the hell up and get out of there before you snap and kill her. He deliberately turned his back and headed for the door, and then out the back, pausing only to grab his shirt and slip it on over his head.