She takes a step towards Alfred. "I don't need your lip and I don't need some stranger calling me crazy, alright?"

He's allowed to be snippy. So is she. This was her way home. Everything she owned and cared about was on that plane. Now she's alone, destitute and feeling like she swallowed the rock she threw at this rat-faced English snob.

As they traipse into the jungle, Deirdre slaps the plants away violently. "What good's a pilot, ey? If they're going to find us, they're going to find us..." Satellites, phones, black boxes, all that shit. For all the good he's done the passengers, Deirdre hopes the pilot is dead.