A look inside Angel's head at the end of The Shroud of Rahmon.

Angel can see the gun. He sees it and he understands the intention. For one glorious moment, he simply doesn't care. The demon will pull the trigger, and Kate will be nothing more than just another dead girl in L.A., and it won't matter to him a bit. But in the next second, a feeling starts to claw its way to his soul and suddenly he cares quite a lot. The demon will pull the trigger, and Kate will be just another dead girl, and that is utterly unacceptable. So he beats away his darker urges (it's as easy as he expected. These are the urges of the man, not the demon and he has them all fooled. As if magic shrouds or poisons could hold a candle to the horror leashed inside), and casts around for a plan. It's like the start to a bad joke. A cop, a Watcher, and a Vampire walk into a museum… No. He has to focus, ignore the peanut gallery in his head, or Kate will be on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Blood! He saunters forward, spewing hateful words, knocks Wesley into a wall so it all looks real, and charges. Shallow sips. Like a fine wine. He'll take no more than that, despite the Shrouds influence telling him to take more. He keeps control, keeps on the side of good long enough to stop drinking, whisper a few words in her ear, and drop her. She stays down, and he rushes out. But deep inside, buried under his heart and behind his soul, there is a furious demon, drenched in blood and rattling his cage.

Angel can't quite ignore the words welling up inside him, reminding him that the powerful blonde ones have always tasted the best.