End of the Movie
Loki knew he'd lost before the battle was over. Maybe the Chitauri would still win. But he'd be in no shape to make use of their victory. He was stronger, more resilient, than a mortal man, but even he could be hurt. And hurt he was. Being thrown from his flying chariot and landing on a cement rooftop fifty feet below wasn't exactly healthy, and it had gone downhill from there. He didn't even try to move when after what felt like an eternity the Hulk dropped him. He couldn't. He couldn't remember how to operate his limbs. The air felt too heavy to move, so heavy it was suffocating him. He just couldn't.
When finally he succeeded in pushing himself to a half-sitting position, it was to find the entire band of avengers standing over him and an arrow leveled at his throat. The sight made his head spin. Again.
"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now." He wasn't quite sure where he found the breath to say it, but a drink sounded like a fantastic idea. Hell, give him the whole bottle and in his battered state that might even kill him painlessly.
No such luck. Instead he was rather forcefully pinned back to the ground, cuffed and gagged, and hauled to his feet by strong hands gripping his upper arms. They propelled him somewhere, and he staggered along blindly, kept upright only by the iron grips of the people propelling him. He was vaguely aware that he was in pain and that his captivity meant he'd be facing justice somewhere, but he was rapidly ceasing to notice or care. At some point they stopped and the people holding him let go, leaving him precariously balanced for a moment as a handle of some sort was shoved into his hand.
Transport between realms was not the most pleasant experience to begin with, and the hazy world had been rapidly turning to black even before it started.