Something about his disposition is concerning, as Carlisle goes to pour a drink. Rey can't argue; she isn't exactly a shining beacon of optimism, herself. Still, it doesn't feel right. She's half-tempted to go for his glass, but this is his decision.

"So, what? Intending to drink your sorrows away now? Try and forget about it?"

And fail, obviously. This is an ailment that not even alcohol can cure.