By the time she gets back he's managed to get most of the glass out of his hand, and mopped up the blood with those gauze wraps he tends to keep wrapped around his wrists. If she catches sight of his inner arms... it's pretty obvious he doesn't have much issue with needles.

He grunts a vague noise of appreciation, taking the kit and fiddling to get it open with one hand. He pulls out tweezers and rubbing alcohol to finish cleaning himself up, but he puts some extra effort into making it look gross. Just so she won't look while his wrist is bare. He's much happier once it's all bandaged up.

...He guesses he should make some conversation, huh. "So. Folks like you normal where you come from?"