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Zoro has always been able to the see the things that go bump in the night. He's always known it wasn't a gang that killed his parents, even if he was too young to remember them or their faces. His proximity to loss and the green force of life that runs through the planet has always gifted him the ability to see and know that which hides in the shadows and the night and the lofty places of power far above the innocent. He's found that directly ignoring the things that seem to flock to East Blue is far more effective than just attacking them outright, since many feed on fear or use eye contact and names to gain power. He knows not to give those things his name and he knows not to ask anything or them nor give them the feeling that he knows anything. He knows not to follow the creatures that guide him into the dark, and he knows how to kill them when he follows them anyways. He's never seen this.
When Sanji leaves, feet near-silently tapping against the creaky old wood, Zoro waits. He waits, despite his entire being insisting that he take on this stupid magical circus with just his fists and a dream, but he waits. Five minutes pass, then ten, and when Sanji doesn't return, Zoro caves to his instincts and chooses a brief moment that no one in the circus is looking at him to make his escape. He sprints out of the tent and back to his truck. The grounds are silent. Not abandoned, no, but silent, and Zoro pauses just for a moment to notice the attendees who had no interest in the bigtop, the vendors, and staff not directly in the tent. They lay slumped on the ground, bodies twisted and limp in a mockery of peaceful sleep. Zoro takes stock of himself for a moment, testing to see if he feels drowsy or otherwise encumbered, but when nothing apparent appears, he hops over the fairgoers and continues the sprint to his truck.