Regulus watched the fire engulfing the theatre, burning up all evidence and traces of who was there that night. No one would even be able to identify their loved ones, would they? He felt sick. How had he gotten himself into this situation? Had he? He couldn't even remember what had gotten him to this point. Everything had happened so fast, and he was in completely over his head.
Lost in thought, he almost suffered the same fate as the burning theatre. Somehow, probably by his body's own natural instincts, he made it outside. Or maybe he was pulled out by someone else? Regulus wasn't sure, honestly. He was so devastated that he almost wished he'd been left inside to die with the others. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Should he suffer, even in his own mind, for what he'd just done and been witness to? He was no better than any of the others. They all wore the uniform of death.
Somehow, by the grace of Merlin, he wasn't shaking. He thought he ought to be trembling terribly by now, but perhaps he was too stunned for it. An overwhelming state of numbness had washed over him instead. That would probably be what saved him for the time being and wouldn't give way to the fact that he hated everything he was just then. Regulus tucked his wand away, even though he wanted to toss it into the burning building. He had to get home, even though that was the last place he wanted to go. Hopefully his mother was sleeping by now and he could just lock himself in his room. He disapparated from the area, clinging to that very wish.