Daryl's expression turns hard, cold. Where he was impassive before, his hackles raise. How dare she call him a coward, after all he's done? All they've done together?

(Does she really think so little of him?)

No longer caring who hears-- if he even cared to begin with-- he barks back, "Lost my taste for death, but if you're so hot for it, go ahead." He turns to leave, his steps quick and angry.