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He pours over the text, reading and rereading for the hundred millionth time. He knows every log by heart, every word and punctuation mark and point of emphasis. He reads until he cannot possibly comprehend how he missed anything to begin with. He reads until he hates himself (even more).
Somewhere, deep within his blackened soul, he realises that Karkat was probably actually pale for him. He understands what possibilities he was given whilst he was alive, too busy pining over his flushcrush to care for much else at the time, and he cries a little. He knows what he has lost without ever having and it hurts him.
From within his tiny kingdom he watches as, in doomed timelines, he makes the right choices. He enjoys himself for a little while, until Gamzee goes on his rampage. The timelines generally go one of two ways then; everyone dies because Karkat is a hopeless romantic, or Eridan himself goes on a murder spree out of jealousy.
He hates himself, yes, but not nearly as much as he hates his selfish doomed counterparts. He hates himself but not as much as he should hate himself, all things considered.
So he sits on the husktop he should not have inside a dreambubble that is only his and he reads. He read and he hates himself for wishing, more than anything, that he could dream.