Just a little bit more.
You don't flinch. The Joker has never bested you in a fight, and he has no dogs to sic on you now, nor any knives to slip between your ribs. Between the hardened plates of Kevlar you asked Fox to break up for you. There is a rised scar on the left side of your body; any higher and the rusty and broken blade would have penerated your heart. You catch your hand reaching up to find it as the Joker nears, but you cannot understand for what purpose. And in your batsuit, your second skin, it would have been impossible anyway.
Closer now, you see the Joker has dispensed with or lost his purple overcoat since the last time you saw him, and his vest is in tatters. His teeth are yellow and filed, but his eyes are still dark, and they shine.
"Do you have any idea what's happened? Huh? Do you, Batman?" He says your name with something anyone else would have called distain, but you know him better than that. He points at you. He has not lost his gloves. "This is really all your fault."
You've considered that the Joker may know more about what happened than he lets on.