The blood didn't originate from Dodger's wrist - but it clearly came from his palm, as a deep cut is hidden under a torn-off piece of fabric that's tied haphazardly around his hand. From the looks of it, Dodger has drained a lot of blood from himself, but he did make an effort to staunch it. He's fast asleep, rather than unconscious, and actually looks rather peaceful - the same sort of expression he tends to have in the afterglow of an orgasm. Though... it would be less creepy if his eyes weren't half-open, with very large pupils.

Yet another guitar is propped in his hands - this one a little battered, but recognizable as the one he'd been playing on his birthday, with its Eichi stickers and rustic vibe - and a cup of what looks and smells like Dodger's own blood has spilled over beside his leg. He was drinking out of that, apparently.

He doesn't respond to his name being called... another drug purge might be necessary.