She runs because he is angry and while she could never face him head on, she could, sure as a banshee’s scream, outrun him.
She cannot understand his anger, his blame. The feelings in her breast had been elating, as though she at last had assurance of belonging. He was her key to happiness, only, like some wizard novel about hats that sing and books with bite and staircases that moved on their own, this key burned when it was touched. She had not had it but a moment before her tentative approach had incurred wrath. She was not a proper Dragon, not as her father had been, not as her nephew's children were. She had only carried the genes of it, instead becoming like a deep sea serpent, floating and shy of witnesses once technology had grown ships into metal monstrosities unable to be sunk by flesh and blood beasts.
He is no weak hunter, though. He keeps on her, always gaining on her when she believed she had run far and fast enough to lose him. He tracks her down and just as her newest flight had begun-- she hears a call. "Wait a minute! Please, I'm… I'm sorry!" It is no poised apology like Tesseract might have made, but there is a calling that they both felt and it tugs at her attention enough to stop the rustling of a fleeing wolf, telling him by sound that she considered his apology at least. "Damn my old age."
He ceased pursuit only benefitted his cause, the expletive aimed at his aged body drawing kindness from out of the fear in her core. She peeks through the foliage to face him, barely visible with the leaves acting as a veil, as though she were some maiden too shy to confront a stranger’s pursuit. There is enough wildness in her eyes that spoke of her readiness to defend herself, but there is still some withering hope that makes her shift her weight uncomfortably - clearly both wishing and not daring to run again.
“I shall not flee if you shall not bite… or shout again...” She offers by way of compromise, a slight movement bringing her ever so slightly more visible and out of the greenery.