Whether it was on Byerly's advice or just a particularly bad day, Barrow resolved at some point hours ago to get falling down drunk. Circumspect enough to find a pub where he wasn't likely to run into any peers, and being large enough that most people have the good instinct not to bother him when he looks like this, he has only partially managed to fall down-- in this case, with his head buried in his arms on the table where he sits alone.
Why does this ever seem like a good idea? It's never a good idea. But here he is, all his limbs like lead, and he may as well enjoy how his mind has quieted for the time being.