There’s the moment when Kris recognises this is not going to end well. He’s too busy trying to make sure it ends as best as it can, fighting to keep enough control of the plane breaking up around him so he can get out of it, the German plane roaring past him, to do more than feel a small pang of fear and sadness. He fights his instinct to duck at the sound of yet more bullets impacting his dying plane - too late for that, he needs the Hurricane as flat and level and controlled as he can and with the avionics a mess and the engine spluttering and flaming out, he daren’t do anything to upset the tenuous balance he’s miraculously managed to achieve by doing anything as stupid as trying to get out of the gunsights of the 109 currently behind him.
Reaching up a hand he shoves open the cockpit hatch fully, unfastens his seatbelt and fights his way onto the seat, preparing to bail.
His last recognition is that if the 109 is still harrying his dying aircraft, then it isn’t going after Sid or the sprog.
And on that thought, he launches himself, Icarus like, out into the cold embrace of the empty, open, wide, blue skies.