No, instead, he lays the blame for his current feelings of loss of self on the cell on Skaro he's locked in, awaiting trial. And the fact that, pacing the cage like the animal he's become, he can't even begin to think of a way out. Not that he hasn't tried - he has, a dozen times over, but nothing has worked. Nothing has worked, and all he can do now is lean against the bars of the cell, ignoring the unpleasant threads of pain it laces into his arms and chest, meant to keep him at bay.
Time passes. How much, he's not sure, as he's lost count and even the rhythm he started drumming out on the bars to count out the time - one second for every repetition - no longer helps. He's starving and exhausted - by Time Lord standards not a human's - so he can at least guess it's been days, but beyond that, he has no idea. So, he has no sense of how long it takes the Daleks to come for him, only that they do.
"You will follow me," the one in charge growls at him, as it unlocks his holding pen.
And while he's barely able to hold himself up as his perch is taken away from him as the door swings free and surely unable to try and escape now, he can't help but question. "What's to become of me, then?"
"You are to be exterminated." Just as casually as it answered, it backs towards the door, keeping its weapons leveled on him before repeating, "You will follow."
In that instant, he knows that he's lost, that it's finally over. And it crushes what little will he has left to think he's to be killed by a Dalek, rather than felled by the Doctor's hand as he had always hoped.
Muse: The Master (Three)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 435