Vila Restal's name had been infamous for a long time. Not as long as Blake's, or even Avon's, but infamous none the less. A master thief with comic ability travelling with the most famous rebel in the galaxy was bound to gain some coverage. And at times, he'd been happy to accept the infamy: he'd always wanted to be a household name, and supposed it was a way of living forever, if you looked at it a certain way. The whole crew of the Liberator (and later, less notably, Scorpio) were infamous, and Vila was happy to have that little piece of infamy for himself.
And then Gauda Prime happened.
He strode amongst the corpses of his friends; Blake, chest a bloody gaping mess, Avon, eyes dead and lifeless, the others, laying still and cold as the rigor mortis set in. He couldn't look at them, but they haunted his dreams.
So he takes up drinking. Moreso than when on Scorpio, because even then he could feel the end and drank alcohol (to mourn Cally, he told himself, in her memory) to stunt the pain and anger and desperation that churned within him. Now, he has nothing, and he becomes a ghost. Haunts every bar in the Outer Worlds. No one knows who he is, except he used to be a rebel, and that he always pays his tab. He steals for money and wastes it on drink, women, drugs. Anything to stop seeing their dead, dusty bodies surrounded by Federation guards.
Over time, people forget about Vila Restal, master thief, rebel hero, coward and joker, and minor celebrity, and they remember a ghost trying to forget his friends in dingy bars across the galaxy.
Vila Restal's name was already infamous. And he'll tell you, from among drink bottles and choked laughter, that's just for a different reason, nowadays.