I can relate to the mental counter-reality juxtaposition of an intruder within your perimeter and a handgun in your hand. In college, I had someone walk into my apartment late one night. I was awake, playing video games, in a back room. I had a .44mag vaquero which always lived on the table beside my computer. The intruder walked in, and I remember the feeling - if you would have asked me for height and weight in that instant, I would have said 7ft tall and 320lbs. While in reality, he was about 5'10" and 180. That moment of the unknown and unknowable was a split second, but felt like an hour.
Contrary to your situation: I put my hand on the revolver (knowing it was unloaded). Suddenly, the intruder felt very small, and my Vaq Mag felt like the sword of St. Mike. I don't fancy myself clever, but I asked him if he wanted a shot... If he wanted to play nice, I had vodka, if not, I had this... He was just some frat boy who had gotten the wrong side of the apartment building looking for his buddy's place. He hung out for a bit, played Halo, and drank a little vodka with me, and went on his way. Legally, it would have been a good shoot, emotionally, it would have been terrible. But I remember the transference in my emotions between the realization of threat and the realization of protection - bluff as it was, I knew I had a hand on a gun and he didn't, and that was enough for my confidence.