He has no intention of leaving this place. This is where he belongs, with the rest of the (imagined) corpses and he's going to stay here until the sun rises and fries him to dust. Except, that's not going to happen, is it? This godforsaken fish bowl won't even give him that much.
He has, however, successfully drunk himself into something close to unconsciousness. Still slumped against a headstone, fingers loosely wrapped around an empty bottle, for all intents and purposes dead to the world.