Martha blinked a little, was startled by Nick speaking to her, low and soft and dark in a way that was entrancing yet made her hackles go up. She didn't recognise the language (which would mean the TARDIS didn't recognise it, actually, as she'd be caught in her translation field considering the Doctor was about), but there was always context.

And the whole bright yellow eyes bit. There was that.

Well, Dr Jones, she thought to herself--a quick flash of insight in the course of the moment You did come in knowing the dangerous bit, didn't you. Oddly, the question paramount for her was less 'how do I get out of here' and more 'how to do I do this without hurting Nick'.

Martha twisted her wrist, nails flicking into his skin, to extricate her hand, even as she shifted her weight, changed her centre of gravity so she could wrench away, create a few feet between them. Giving him space to breathe should help, or at least she guessed it might.