His gut was bleeding internally. Nobody gets hit by a car like that and just walks away. He must be a damn good actor though, tougher than he looks too. He just sprang up and said he’s fine.
You can tell he’s in pain by the slight grimace in his eyes and his refusal to bend his trunk. He’s leaning against the craft services table pretending to drink a Fiji water. Gaffers pass by and ask him if he’s alright and his costar’s stuntman eats chicken and eyes him down. The director’s yelling at the prop guy on set and lawyers for the union and the studio are flanking the arguers, knights of gray wool and sunglasses.
He still hasn’t cracked open his Fiji water. He tried a couple times but seems to have lost interest in favor of sweating a little harder. He coughs up a little real blood onto the corn syrup in his palms. Three minutes later, he falls to the floor. Both teams of lawyers think they can win the case. The director’s pissed. Everyone goes home.