Nasty little useful thing, really. The Master lets out another hissing breath through his teeth, and then springs to his feet with renewed vigor-- driven partially by Anetrizine and partially by pure spite. The way he's stalking back to the Doctor, driven, purposeful, should look familiar to him. It means the Master is very likely to get whatever he wants, by whatever means necessary.

If the Doctor wanted assistance propping himself up, well, he's got his wish. Sort of. The Master grabs him by his lapels roughly, dragging him into a seated position (and perhaps slamming him back against the rock just a bit too hard).

In the next moment he's searching the Doctor's pockets again, fending off hands and feet as if he just doesn't feel them-- and finally, pulling back with the screwdriver held up triumphantly in his hand. He gives the Doctor a crazed, appropriative sort of grin before striding back to the wreckage.