Does That Not Make Me the Beast?

The ruminations of a hunter.

The proud hunter stalked through the forest, following his prey with eyes like an eagle. He made no sound as he moved within the brush, his booted feet padding against the uneven ground. Finally his prey stopped. The beast was nestling down in a sunlit clearing, tucking its head underneath the gigantic paws. The hunter grinned. This was it... 
He knocked an arrow into his bow, and drew back the string as far as it would go, aiming for the jugular. And at that moment, the serene looking creature looked up at him. And it made him wonder. The beast's eyes had a sad look in his eyes. And he thought, am I not the beast in this situation? My victim lies, aware of the fate he will suffer. And yet I sit here, and wait to deliver that fate. Then, am I not the beast? This magnificent creature has done me no harm, and I have no need of it. The tiger only kills when he's hungry, and yet I kill for the the thrill of the hunt. Does that not make me the beast? Yes... he thought, stroking his chin. I would be the beast... but no longer.
And with that the humbled hunter put down his arms, and returned to the dwellings of mankind.