He didn't look at her. He didn't think he could talk to her right now without losing his temper. Not because of her. Because of everything else about this whole situation. The things Rose and Gisborne had said, the fact that Marian herself probably agreed and it left him so angry he didn't think he could see straight. Everyone was so fired up about giving Gisborne the benefit of the doubt, and what if he'd had someone better than the Sheriff around and he might not have killed people and burned houses down. And that just left Robin wondering well what the hell about him? He hadn't had some noble person there to guide him. He'd made those choices himself and not managed to run people through in the process. Since when did being the one whose story got told more often make you in to the bad guy?
And now he couldn't even rationally verbalise any of that because Marian would just blame it on his temper, on what had happened. And yeah, he was angry. Angry at the situation and at himself and that it had taken him nearly five minutes just to get his shoes off last night. So he didn't look at her. He just took the lid off the little bottle of pills that were supposed to stop the pain as best he could with one hand,, swallowed two without water because he'd gotten used to that anyway, stood up from the couch and walked in to their bedroom without a backward glance, shutting the door behind him and taking a moment to be pleased he hadn't slammed it.
She could be angry all she wanted right now. But he didn't have room for that right now and he didn't know what she expected him to say.