Paul's Demise

This is actually from my major writing project! I rarely post anything from it here, but this is so first-draft that it doesn't really matter. Here we see our protagonist, in his animal form, taking out one of the "bad guys." It is meant to be fairly brutal, so if you're squeamish, perhaps avoid.

___The blood was fresh, only a slight tackiness like the thin skin on pudding marking the onset of coagulation. It was the distinct cartoon-bright red of arterial blood, always too dark in movies because directors are afraid it will look fake. It did look fake, but I could smell the adrenaline and iron and cholesterol, feel the heat rising from each pool against my cold nose when I inhaled. I bared my teeth, recognizing Paul's scent over the intoxicating metallic reek of blood.
___It did not take long to locate him; he'd returned to his human form in a vain effort to use his hands to stop the bleeding of a deep neck wound. I could hear his shallow, raspy breathing, smell the clammy sweat beading on his flabby form. He wouldn't survive long; shorter still now that I'd arrived. He was soaked in blood from effort to stem the flow, crusting in a brown craquelure at the elbows, slippery bright red at his hands and fingertips, the length of each forearm punctuated by dark clotting rivulets.
___Paul was beyond words. He only moaned pitifully as I approached, grimacing and averting his eyes submissively. He whimpered, growled, wept. Urine pooled beneath his fat body. The blood began to pulse more rapidly from between his fingertips. I couldn't feel sympathy; in my mind's eye, I saw him slamming the butt of the gun repeatedly against the werehyena's muzzle as she struggled to drag her bullet-addled body away from his abuse. A low growl rattled in the back of my throat, species indistinct, as I tensed to pounce.
___Paul went very still, his only movement a tendril of snot quivering from one nostril with each tremulous breath. His slaty eyes became wide and wild as I leapt, but he made no effort to fight nor flee. His flabby cheeks shredded, facial bones grating against my fangs before crushing inwards. My claws vanished into the doughy flesh of his abdomen, too soft, tearing but meeting nothing vital. Yellowed globules of fat left an oily residue on my fur, collected in great greasy clumps beneath the hooks of my claws.
___His breaths became convulsive and a high keening issued from his destroyed face as I finally caught the membrane of the peritoneum. Slick, rubbery intestine looped from the tear. At last his hands fell from his throat, feebly grabbing at my pelt in a last instinctive effort of defense. I seized the opportunity to affix my jaws and finish what the hyenas has started; the satisfying snap came with but one firm shake.
___Panting, I backed away from the devastation, Paul barely recognizable as he trembled and choked away his last moments. Yet I hadn't killed him here: he'd walked into the grave when he entered this territory intent to maim, torture and kill other therians. And in thinking this, I came to a very calm, cold realization: so too had the rest of them.