I imagine Doomslayer slowly puts the contract down, slowly take her pen, then X’s out the entire document ripping it here or tearing it there as he presses too hard, making sure she saw him saying ‘no’, her fears and quiet crying slowly building.
Then he’d take the mug and hold it as if to drink it, the squeeze ever so slightly, cracking it until it began leaking down on the paper to metaphorically piss on it, all the while her whimpering grows.
Once the mug was shattered the Doomslayer would punch the contract, shattering the desk and startling her with a squeal and openly crying, fearing the never ending retribution of the one thing the demons have feared for eons.
She tried to stem his anger, tried to deal with him in a different way; after all, armies have fought him and failed, he was sealed away to sleep for eternity and yet he woke up, now, she knew, this was her end.
Turning around the Doomslayer leaves the room and shuts the door, the sounds of carnage not muffled by the walls as he resumes his never ending mission, leaving her to think, ‘Did he spare me because I tried something different? Was it because I didn’t attack him? Or was I just not worth it?’
She would never know why, and just be thankful she was spared his wrath, vowing to never be near him again.