It is distinctly hard to hate Yugi Mouto for all your problems in life, mainly because he's so damn nice. I mean genuinely nice, the kind of good or innocent where you know his soul room would be filled with kid's puzzles and fluffy cute things if you could see it. The best way to justify trying to hurt him is to hate the blatantly obvious easy time he had in life.
I mean around the time he played with other kids in a preschool sandbox I was tied down and biting into solid wood while my father carved hieroglyphs into my back with a knife sizzling in blood, doomed to spend all eternity five hundred feet under a ruined temple in the middle of the Sahara desert.
Memories like that seriously set your life goals into stone, and despite my father's beliefs that goal is the exact opposite of giving the pharaoh a welcoming committee. So when you see little Yugi Moto, grinning like his life's been handed to him on a silver platter with THE Millennium Puzzle happily dangling from his scrawny neck, you might understand my need to strangle him with his own intestines.
Just explaining my actions here.