Time flowed differently for demons. Days looped. Sunrises blended with sunsets. In fact, it took mere weeks for years to pass.
The hurt was still fresh for Sesshomaru.
Food had no taste. Killing gave little reprieve. He hardly slept. When he did often his mind would torment him; her face being the image he was tormented with.
Even in the company of others he remained comparatively alone. He was morose and solitary. Uncompanionable. There was Jaken of course, and the occasional demoness to distract him—to keep his bloodline open. But they didn't stay long. There wasn't a kingdom yet. Just miles of land he had yet to cull of other demonkind.