He's well aware he's being driven. Bunny is accustomed to the hunt, just as much as Siffleur is, and even if he's not finding the same fierce joy in the moment, this exhilaration is what he was made to be for. He exists within his fear, letting it and his instinct speed his harried steps as he continues to hare off.

The thing is, he's not just a rabbit, though, he's magic, and while he can't teleport to the nearest hat like a magician's rabbit, he can twist fate to his ends. There's a sound like rustling dry grass, or something being chased through a cornfield, and Siffleur is momentarily beset by some twist of ill fortune, as Bunny goes for the stairs that lead up to the sports deck, trying to get a moment's reprieve.