As Kuja's steps slow, so do hers. Isabel's not about to crowd him; even though she isn't positive about that, she's pretty sure he ought to be able to take care of himself.

She'd ditch him for being a butthead, but Califleur is nervous; it's the oh leopard's nerves that have her hanging around. And Isabel, too, eyes that growling and groaning plant whose tendrils keep flailing at the air.

At least for now it seems to be rooted, but she is cautious if nothing else, keeping a wary eye on its flailing and where it meets the ground. Just in case.