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Something that Scrooge learned a long time ago is that there are people that he simply cannot save. It's not an easy lesson, and in his weakest moments, one he has to relearn. But he's learned it enough to know it to be the truth.
He could sit back and drink and reflect on all the examples of this fact of life, but if he thinks about them he'll just keep drinking and he's aware to some degree that for all his bravery and triumph that brandy could very well be his undoing if he's not careful.
And he is careful- despite what some may think, he is meticulous. In control.
It's easier to take most of his life as a practice, as lessons for what he must do now. If you don't think about the boy who stood in front of you as a British officer fired, it's not your fault. Not really.
That doesn't mean he died in vain, as he knew when to put on a stupid act of I'm just a poor shoe-shinin' youngin who doesn't know a thing to fool those in authority when he still had the baby face to do so.
Now he's not there anymore, he's alive. He's lived far beyond that that boy, and his sacrifice meant something. He does not think about that boy anymore.
So, he does not let guilt consume him. He does not swirl it around in his glass to savor it like a fine wine before indulging himself in moments of self-pity he pretends don't arise.
And Scrooge doesn't think about the boy who sacrificed himself for him when he was 17, he doesn't think about his niece lost in the cold abyss of space sent there by his own hand, and he doesn't think about the girl who only wanted a family instead of a creator that used her.
Scrooge doesn't think of the fact he has and will continue to outlive every single one of them every single day, older than any of them could ever dream of being now.
He doesn't think about these things and he is all the better for it.
He has his family back now. He doesn't need to drown himself in grief.
But if he makes a silent toast to a girl who will never get to do the same, that's between him and God.