Bickering over the scrapes of ruined legacies, he was willing to drag this out for as long as necessary. Or at least, he thought he was, until, mid-stride, such an approach lost its lustre. Why bother flogging a dead horse when his life was still in danger? "Congrats, you're doing marginally better than other mercs that I could name by noticing that." Blockheads that, for better or worse, he'd antagonise to his own detriment... Unlike her.
That said, be it the jab about providing entertainment, or the salt in the wound that pointedly questioned his usefulness, the combination galvanised Miguel into pitching a clear response. Physically, he appeared to shrink back, a silent mask of outrage offsetting the embittered visage he had managed to cultivate up until this point. As for his words, for a vocalised comeback; it fell on the side of pathetic, surfacing as a tangle of single-syllable options that ranged from "You--" to "dare--!" to "don't--! before settling for a lengthy exhale.
"Of course there is, but you might not like it." Limited in what he could reach for, a tablet is drawn close, where, after a few taps and seconds spent scrolling, he turns in her direction, presenting a snapshot of data that, to any dying human wishing to stay above the ground, he'd strongly advise reading. "In spite of my new position, I haven't stopped tinkering with merging flesh and metal together. There might be something here that'll help... for the right price, of course." After all, he didn't run a charity -- or any sort of venture or programme, these days.