While the dining masses gather outside, the pigs don't bother fleeing. They don't stake out hiding places in los baños. They don't do anything! Correction: They do one thing. They sing.
With their serapes, they scoot up to the little mariachi on the crate, and they croon. They croon a love song dedicated to that blessed day when the sainted chef will come for them, when their turn at last arrives.
The big one—el cerdo rosado—looks impatient. Angry, even. "We're wasting time," he seems to be thinking, "when we could be getting cooked!"
After the song is finished, hold onto your pesos. If you want to reward the singers for their performance, have a chat with the chef instead. Put in a good word for the pigs. Get them added to the menu.