He could see that she was broken. She looked like hell, almost literally, and Crowley was an expert on what hell looked like. She was pale, her hair hadn't been brushed or combed for a while. Her clothes were disheveled. He almost felt compassion for her. He pushed it back down. He was a demon. He wasn't going to have compassion for an angel, of all creatures.
"What's in it for me?" he asked, gaze steady. He was going to be an ass, because being an ass was his default. He'd have to work at not being an ass, and until he gave in the that whole compassion thing, he was going to be an ass to protect himself from feeling too much. That in itself was probably an asshole thing to do, but then Crowley prided himself on being an asshole, from time to time.