Pickman is, for all appearances to the contrary, a fairly socially astute person. He just typically uses his knowledge for evil... or at least, annoyance. He can tell when a situation is starting to turn bad.

The way he kind of hunches up as Hellboy speaks is remarkably reminiscent of canine body language, spelling out his apprehension and disappointment loud and clear. It's far too easy to imagine him with flattened ears and a tail curled between his legs. But one doesn't survive as a scavenger, or an artist, or a prep school outcast, without knowing how to think fast, and talk faster. "In a place like this, who'd have to?" His fingers twitch, wanting something to fidget with, but all he has is the edge of the couch, and the strap of his messenger bag, and the same sort of instinct that kept him from reaching into his pockets in front of a cop keeps him from messing with the latter. "S'all open, yeah? 'less you were tryin' to start trouble, like some fuck."

Please believe him, giant red man, he is not this fuck.