Howard's totally sensible option - running like hell - is unfortunately blocked by the weird dino-bat-dog-thing growling at him like the world's ugliest Rottweiler.

And Howard's pretty sure he can't take this thing with a pocketknife.

So he takes his third option, and curls up into a corner, making himself as small and non-threatening as possible while screaming bloody murder for help.

It vaguely occurs to him that if it really wanted him dead, it would have gone in for the kill. But he figures he's blown his cover by shrieking anyway, and panic comes very, very naturally to him.