Clare had left, gone away. She had left him for another guy, and now he was alone again. There was no reason to get better now, no reason to live, to be happy. He had given up, to be honest. Imogen was a coaster, a placemat, just a cover on his heartbreak, something he could use to pretend that he wasn't contemplating suicide and that his heart was hopelessly broken. He really couldn't function. No reason to get better, so he wouldn't, nothing to live for, and so he wouldn't. And he hoped for release as he popped the pill the ended it all. He got his wish. But Clare didn't.