Well, it's not Arkham. He's seen that place too many times; he's put too many people in there. Arkham is too grey, too cold, and they actually pay attention to their inmates patients.
Waiting for the few minutes per weekday in which the doctor comes around, there is actually nothing to do but stare at the walls. When the warden doctor does come around, he might as well not waste his time; the doctor is the only person to whom he won't talk. No one else can get him to shut up.
The guards orderlies escort him back and forth from his cell room and he talks all the way down the hall. They close the doors and he's still babbling. He rants at the other patients throughout meals, stopping only to say "Please" and "Thank you" to the cafeteria staff. They come in to give him his medication in the evening and he doesn't pause he's heated conversation with… the wall, maybe?
Employee transfer forms flood Dr. Woods' desk. Patients who have been stable within defined limits relapse into neurotic breakdowns. He's become a menace and it only gets worse when the ENDLESS pontificating escalates into bouts of hysterical cackling that sometimes last hours on end.
When he was first admitted, he was gravely silent. He cooperated with his head bowed mournfully. The lights saturated the sterile minimalism of the facility, making it feel all the more stagnant. It still feels like drowning in still waters, but now he knows that they can't sedate him unless he becomes "a threat to himself or others."
And laughing never hurt anybody.