Loki is sat on the stairs near the van, his helmet sits beside him abandoned as the god surveys the carnage around him. His pale pointed features are impassive, he doesn't care one way or another what happens to this city, having had a part in wreaking havoc to it in the past. Though the low moans of the Zombies concern him, given that Stark had been using him as bait to lure the blighter's away from the van. He'd had all the undead he could stand by now. He sits away from their rabble, hoping to sneak off as soon as he's feeling better, though this task might become quite difficult as he is surrounded by people who don't think of him very fondly.
However, he disregards that and focusses on pulling the twigs out of his hair, every so often finding one and throwing it on the street with a look of disgust.