Kina looks at the wrench in her hand, shaking out her palm, then at Sebulba, then back at the wrench in her hand, then back at Sebulba. She quirks an eyebrow in polite defiance. "Thanks for the wrench! Ooh, it's adjustable."
Kina's not above sabotage, when it's to sabotage the sabotage of others - so while Jabba does the introductions, she sits in her cockpit, the image of polite, professional, somewhat excited focus, and reaches out into the guts of Sebulba's racer, a metaphorical spanner in the works to go with his literal attempt upon hers. She pulls wires, snaps control circuitry, resets disengaged safety limiters, drains fuel tanks...and, while that fragment of her mind, long-since honed to fidget with things, is idly unpicking what Sebulba just worked, the vast majority of her attention casts itself forwards, to the race ahead of her.
She is, just a bit, going to have fun with this.