And just like that, the residual shame returns. If he knew the answer to this, he would have set to work on it already-- there is nothing he wants more than to stop being... this.
"...I don't know," he softly admits, speaking to the ground, "I don't... ever know. What to do." A strained smile appears, and might look charmingly self-effacing if he weren't so miserable.
He hesitates for several moments, then continues. "When I'm not..." he stammers, "...when I'm not with other Templars, I get... lost." And afraid, always afraid.
The smile seems to grow into more of a grimace as he shakes his head, looking away from Zevran, focusing on the nearest wall. "...and I make mistakes. That ruin everything. ...and then the Commanders are unhappy, and... the other Templars, and... everyone. And it's my fault."