Aw, he liked these pants. But hey, bright side, free knife. He removes it from his thigh (*) and tosses it vaguely, hilt-first, in the kid's direction, just in case he has any idea how to use it and the knife lady goes for him while Hob is moderately distracted.
Then he performs standard strategy #1 for applying knives to guys taller than him with weapons the size of his entire body who understandably believe that they can kill him faster than he can do anything about it: feint like he's about to try to get into stab range directly through the axe path, and then juke sideways and go for the armpit. If he's unlucky that is not an instant kill but if he's really lucky this is one of those guys who has never had to find out what happens if your first shot with the big heavy weapon misses, those tend to lean their whole body forward and down into the swing in a way that leaves their whole back and the back of their head exposed.
(*) Context note that he's not consciously thinking through right now because this is just habit at this point: Normal people have to care about accelerating blood loss when they do this sort of thing, but adrenaline will usually keep him moving long enough to finish a fight, apply objectively inadequate first aid, lay down for a minute or two to be definitely just taking a breather which involves no being dead whatsoever, and then pretend it was just a minor nonlethal scrape the whole time. It takes Hob's immortal body a while to fix, like, complicated things that are wrong with it, but 'dont worry guys, I found more blood' is apparently not complicated.