The real reason why Dorny was still doing this was because he needed an outlet. Despite his age, he was desperate for an outlet; something that made him feel alive. The pain -- both self-inflicted and from his opponents -- did just that. Even though it was a real reminder of his past, it was like a drug: No matter what he did to stop it, his body demanded more.
But in true Dorny fashion, he couldn't let the truth get in the way of a good story.
After he caught the bottle of balm, Dorny leaned in towards Derek. "I'll let you in on a secret," he started, smirk crossing his face. "I don't do this for the glory - but booze and fags cost money." He leaned back with a laugh, as if he was amused by his own revelation.
"Cheers on the jizz," he continued, noting the jar in his hand. "I'll give that a try. Can't be any worse than the watered-down shit-potions they offer us."
Putting the jar in his own bag, he found a worn, plain t-shirt to go over his tattoo-adorned torso. "What about you? You're long in the tooth yerself," Dorny said as he seemed to slowly crawl into his coverings. "Surely you've got a better way to make a few quid than getting beat up for funsies?"