Part of me would laugh and part of me would cry and want to carve out the remains of my heart with a spoon if the Eleventh Doctor regenerated because he has the grace of a baby giraffe.
Ten's regeneration was showy, sacrificial, a fiery end for a man whose great tragedy was that he just wanted to be. He clung to every tie to humanity; he resisted leaving with everything he had. He felt his race was a curse upon him. He just wanted things to be quiet and so he got flames and noise.
Eleven is showy in his very being. He flounces and trips his way through life, all grins but for a bitter angry streak the length of a mop. He loves what he does, he throws everything he's got into it to cover up the fact that he feels like a walking failure. If you're too busy having fun, you don't have time to wallow in self-pity.
This is why I love him.
As we've seen, he is not at all afraid of sacrificing himself to save others, even if it means the very end of him, that he will be nothing more than a shadow and a whisper in the back of the minds of those he saved. And those times when he does try to die, the universe won't let him. It lets him have a show, but what was it really? Only a few people were watching, a few soft notes played. He's having fun, so it doesn't matter.
I think Eleven looks up to Rory a lot.
Rory has died and died and died all for the sake of one girl. He's lived longer than the Doctor himself, but has dragged his feet through life, because he's so firm in his commitment to Amy. Feet down in the dirt while the Doctor's dipping his toes in the Milky Way. Rory didn't spend his millenium seeing wonders, he spent it seeing the same dirty box day after day after minute after year. He's not selfless, he's the very embodiment of a hero. And yet he only escapes death through a few lucky breaks, time after time again. He stumbles and scrapes his way through life, and yet holds on to a firm rightness that the Doctor abandoned long ago for a wibbly-wobbly morality.
"Good men don't need rules."
The Doctor's on the side of the angels, and not the weeping variety, that's for certain, he's accepted that, but he refuses to be an ever-active Superman. He hides in the corners of the universe for the same reason superheroes have secret identites: time off. He apologizes to people by trying to do fun things with them, gallivants about the galaxy on a whim, pulls back the handle on the TARDIS and lets her catupult twirling wildly to exactly where he needs to go.
Ten didn't want death, for anyone. "Just this once, everybody lives."
I think Eleven has grimly accepted that people are going to die, going to leave, going to turn their backs on you to live their normal boring slow lives so that you're left all alone kicking it with the stars you've seen a million times before. That's what people do.
"I'm no hero. I really am just a madman with a box."
But maybe a bit of him wishes he was a hero. He launches himself into sacrifice because hey, what else are you going to do, might as well, Geronimo!
So I think Eleven is going to leave us when he's all alone, one last quiet sacrifice. He'll just fade away into the fabric of spacetime, and then Twelve wil come screaming in, tearing through everything to start all over again, or maybe he'll gently step through the crack and onto the worldstage.
Or she. You never can tell with Steven Moffat.