The way the Doctor flew his TARDIS it was a miracle he didn’t crash more often. This occasion wasn’t his fault, or it was; he couldn’t be sure of anything right now. It seemed a good idea to get out before something worse than crashing happened though, if there was anything worse. Slinging his grappling hook to catch the edge of the doorway he clambered up the rope.
Crashing was bad, he didn’t want to do that again, but he didn’t know why he’d crashed anyway.
Early days. Steering must be a bit off. Regeneration could be a rough ride.