He's on edge, agitated and confused, but something about having options laid out for him one-by-one seems to calm him down a little. (For varying definitions of "calm"; his body language is still wound up and closed off, expression sour, and he still fidgets in place.) He listens intently, and doesn't interrupt once.

"I can't scavenge food for shit." It's not a complaint, or self-deprecation, it's just true. There are a lot of things in his skill set, but living off the land is not one of them. He's been actually, literally starving before, so he has some concept of how much time he has before he's not able to function— and it isn't enough for him to learn what he needs to know to subsist on his own, even if he wanted to. "So I have to put the work in. That's fine. Whatever I gotta do, I'll do it. One of those guys who got here before us has to have a job they don't wanna do anymore, right?"