Why is everything here completely pointless?

So my last goddamn baby rabbit died today. I don't suppose I'll actually tell people because it bums me out so much and I'm so angry and disappointed in myself. It got out, I guess, although I still think it is kind of unlikely that those fucking babies could get out of the cage I rigged. I suspect the dog got it, which is even worse because Lola is just the gentlest darling. She's watched me feed those things a million times, she was undoubtedly just carrying it around. I found it right outside the door (present style), absolutely matted down with spit with a little hole in its abdomen where I suppose a canine tore his ultra thin little rabbit skin. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it. I would guess he died of shock, not even the injury. Fuck! I think this was when I was outside watering the plants and I heard her tear off into the back yard and thought nothing of it. He was totally going to make it, too. I was going to release him into the fucking wild.
Why do people even bother. Even if I had released him, how long do wild rabbits live? Is their life worthwhile?
And then I had the terrible idea to watch a movie about underpaid mexicans working as janitors who tried to form a union and that doesn't help my poor bleeding heart. To care about everything so much, all the time, is just exhausting.

I guess posts like this are better when they're written "in the mood" so to speak. Earlier today I was just a wreck about this rabbit and everything. But I'm feeling better now. I like to read. Life is worth living because of enjoyable experiences. The rabbits were worth my time and money because I gained knowledge and I really think next time will be the one; I'll raise a baby woodland creature and it will live. I loved them for a short while. Shit, was it really only 13 days? That seems impossible. I wish he hadn't died.