If if he had been a stronger man, perhaps this would have never happened. If he had been rich, or powerful, or never in love, perhaps this would have never happened. But it's far too late for him to have regrets. So he shall try his best not to miss her - his pale, yellow-haired daughter; a dove in a cage, born to fly - and he shall not meet her, for that is too great an evil to rest on his conscience. Instead she'll be a image in his mind, a question forever questioning at the back of his mind. And she'll stay there, stagnate and perfect, and he will never have to see her otherwise.
And likewise, she will never see him. The way it should be. For - he is not her father. He is Sweeney Todd, and he knows no girl named Johanna. Not at all.
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Do I know you?
Something about his face - if it had been kinder, warmer, softer - she might recognize him. But now she can only smell the evil beneath her feet and the panic in his eyes, and too soon she sees nothing at all.
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He thinks he might has regrets, but he knows he has anger. He tries not to think too hard about these things - motivations - because he knows if he thinks about it for too long, he might spontaneously develop morals, and that would be very bad indeed. No use for a vengeful man to have morals, and without his pursuit of revenge, what else would be left?
He misses her, his pale, yellowed-haired wife, but even that is fading.