He hates the very thought of her. Of course, that's all he has left, happy memories and hollow thoughts. Because she's dead and her blood is still on his paws, and he can't touch it and he can't wash it off and he can't let go, either.
She's done this to him. Taken him apart, and he can't quite figure out how all his pieces are supposed to line up, but it's not this way. Not that way. Not any of the ways he tries, and so he gives up, and shuns her memory. He hates her as much as he loves her, curses as he prays. He haunts his old haunts, and smiles his familiar old smiles, because he hates her, and it all comes to him so easily now.