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His hatred of cooking is only rivalled by his fear of eating what other people cook. Add in the fact that unless he’s just finished another shitty job, he’s dead broke, and it results in him never eating nearly enough.
It’s easier, then, to poison himself before someone else can do it for him. It’s fucked up, yeah, but at least cigarettes lower his appetite and won’t kill him for another ten, twenty, thirty years, and that’s basically forever. He’ll be dead by then for sure.
Who can he trust, anyway? He’s out, but he hasn’t escaped shit. Just because he left his poor excuse for a family behind, just because he left the protection of the famiglia with it, doesn’t mean he can wash his hands of everything.
No, he doesn’t trust anyone enough to eat.