Hawk waits a few moments for someone present to volunteer previously-unmentioned knowledge of poisons. On the one hand, he wants that information for Jibrīl's sake, but on the other hand, he's not sure he wants to be in a group with someone who has reason to have that knowledge. If it were another healer, then sure, but who else would have a legitimate...
Hawk pauses that train of thought when, with no one having offered any poison knowledge, Jibrīl starts to react to whatever was on the needle. Whatever is on there, it must be working fast. As much as he'd hate to lose the extra time to make this work properly, he decides to do it slowly and carefully and get this right the first time.
Drum in hand, he starts tapping out a rhythm; it has the same basic beat as the one he has previously used for healing, but it has almost a sinister tone to it. He calls out to the spirits in his language, asking the spirits of the trees and plants, which clean the water and the air, to come forth and cleanse the impurities in his companion's blood.
As the shaman nears the end of the chant, he feels the spirits flow through him with an almost eager alacrity, and he knows that he has called them properly. Almost a minute after he started, that "sinister" patterning gets softer within the drum beat, and gets softer, until only the basic underlying beat is there, and then that ceases as well, and, already on his knees, Hawk slumps further, not quite collapsing.
"If... you are not any more... trying to die," the shaman says wearily, "I will be against that wall," Hawk indicates a spot next to the room's entrance, "so that you can not-die later, too."