Catra looks at the offered hand and feels a wave of revulsion. Not for Saturday, but for herself. Does she deserve to be offered that kind of help? That kind of support? She was too soft to be the a villain, too messed up to be the hero... She curls in against herself, drawing her arms in.

"Whatever." She doesn't know what else to say. She grips the table, claws starting to dig. "It's not like it matters."