Sometimes, it weighed on him.
The knowledge that every other anacondrai he'd known from before the tomb was now dead, his parents, his brother- lost, to senseless hatred of humanity.
A part of him regretted how he was back then, his last conversation with the only family he'd had left ended with the slamming of the door, the shouted declaration that they'd never speak again, he could never get close to anyone, once they realized what he was, they'd drive him out of town, and he'd have to go to another one, a place that didn't know his name, what he did... It had been fine, at the time, he hadn't cared, then, but now... he wondered how things could've turned out differently. If he could've had friends.
It's a shame he hadn't thought of this earlier, after the tomb had opened, but, well... he hadn't expected things to turn that wrong.
But now... it was too late. He'd screwed up his last chance to find any respect with his own species- the words of the dead meant nothing, not when it was the living who dictated how he was treated. Not when he'd never truly know another serpentine again.
Something bitter sank in his gut, twisting like a bade. Maybe, if the war had never happened, he'd have mellowed out by now. Maybe he'd have a family again. It'd been his own damn fault back then he acknowledged that, but... he couldn't help but feel that he'd been robbed of a second chance.
And the ninja wondered why he still hated the Garmadons.