The tears were those of a child hurt, not a man but the true fear of a child. Aloysius was not so used to pain in those days to ignore it or chalk it up to less than the needles in his arm. He was still like a babe and left an easy mark for opportunistic claws.
He was beaten and limped away in his shame crying out lies of vengeance which somehow crowned his defeat. But he had not shirked away he came when challenged a faced his foe if only to crawl away proven the lesser. That was Aloysius distilled.