As the shackles fall away from his hands and feet, Grumblejack rubs at his chafed wrists (revealing that he too has an 'F' brand on his forearm). He draws himself up to his full imposing height, looks down at Anitol and says simply, "Thanks. Stupid little men, they'll wish they'd just killed me and been done with it."
Despite his tough talk, it's easy to see that the ogre has numerous wounds, new and old. As the group emerges from his cell, he appears also to have a slight limp. Clearly, he is not in the best of shape.