It's not hard to see that he does want out; there are numerous tells in his posture, and the way a foot shifts away certainly speaks of following it and leaving. But...he doesn't. Perhaps some small part of him is desperate for this trace of respect he still has left, buried under all his misdeeds, and unwilling to cut that off in whole when it's so blatant in front of him.

He reaches up with a hand, rubbing- covering his face, veiling the pained twisting of his expression.

"I don't...have...anything."