He was, at the moment, upside-down.
The overhanging rocks were quite low, here, not quite ceiling--and much lower than the highest points of the roof. He was hanging maybe fifteen feet up, pressed to the rock, staring upside-down at Draco.
It looked different, upside-down. He was trying to figure out where everything was; perception this way was... hard.
Nidhogg was a creature without direction, too. That isn't to say, physical direction--up or down direction--this is a change of topic, and an implication of philsophical direction. He'd been angry, chaotic, wanting to escape. Then he'd sort of gotten lost a single cave away, and wound up hauled back by Vargas; but he hadn't seen anything of interest in Pegasus, anyway. Only flowers and birds and things, all gross and he didn't like them and he liked Draco better but he didn't want to admit that, no sir. So now he just sort of... existed.
Dwelled here.
Upside-down.
He didn't know what he wanted, and that had taken him from violently chaotic to sullenly simmering, staring at the Black Spire with a dull, angry mind and no idea what it was he should be searching for.
Or... doing, for that matter.
Ahh, well. Time to drift aimlessly until provoked; to hang from rocks and glare at nothing as if it owed him something in return.
@Orthoclase-Alpha