Demons are least likely to have anything of use to loot. And Bellamy wouldn't call it looting anyways, especially not when they're here on a mission. Turning over the dead is really almost a reflex at this point, a habit born of necessity.

The rage demon at his feet is briefly heavy in death, not yet sizzling away into nothing. Bellamy pries the corpse up from the soft ground using the toe of his boot, then abandons that effort and grabs hold with his hands instead, hauls the thing sideways. Movement catches his eye and he stiffens, warily, before mentally realizing Sabine as an ally.

He leaves off searching the corpse at his feet anyways, his attention held by the patch of dark liquid that she's headed toward.

"What in the Blight is that?"