The Driver's navigation system is perfect—it doesn't buffer, doesn't miscalculate, doesn't send him down a dead end or through traffic or anywhere but exactly where he needs to be, when he needs to be there.
Refn shot this as liberation, meaning we're meant to read it as competence, control, mastery—but it's actually the thing that makes everything else possible.
The heist itself requires anonymity. The Driver's value is that he's invisible, untraceable, a ghost.
But the technology that allows him to be that ghost for the job is the exact technology that makes him visible to everyone else—a real-time GPS working at that scale, with that precision, in 2011, requires data collection, location tracking, cell tower triangulation, all the apparatus Refn otherwise shows as predatory and corrupting. Refn understood the heist's moral trap: you can't steal without leaving evidence, can't be invisible without being seen.
He didn't understand his own technology—the perfect map is the predator's map, and it's what comes after the job, after the anonymity fails, after someone decides to look at where that car actually went.
Find the scene where the Driver navigates the apartment building (around 35 minutes in) and watch how the GPS responds to his arrival—then read Kashmir Hill's 2021 essay 'I Tried to Block Amazon From My Life' to see what happens when that same technology is actually deployed at scale.
Listen to Nicolas Winding Refn's commentary on the Criterion Collection edition where he discusses the film's relationship to technology and Los Angeles geography—he explicitly says the GPS was meant to show 'perfect knowledge' but never addresses that perfect knowledge requires perfect surveillance.