The fun she's having throwing snow randomly takes precedence over actually hitting him with any of the snowballs she's making and, if any of them find their mark, it's an actual miracle.

By the time she's standing three feet from him, she has one last snowball in her hand, her cloak is blowing in the wind, she's flushed from the cold and the exertion, and her hair is flowing loosely around her face. She looks both delighted and a mess and she's clearly having the time of her life. Not a care in the world.

The threat is imminent and she laughs as she approaches slowly. "Surrender."