So basically, as I've been saying for years both here and anywhere else I can find, if every single non-white person suddenly poofed out of existence like they were wished into some grand cosmic cornfield, then the racists left behind wouldn't just start living their best lives, building a utopia and embracing what was left of the human race; no, they'd find someone else to hate, someone else beneath them, who was responsible for all the troubles in their lives, someone else forming nefarious cabals meant to run the world from the shadows and mess with Whitey, someone else in dire need of being hunted down and exterminated for the good of White babies and puppies and apple pie forever and ever, and this vicious cycle will not end until Andrew Anglin is the last living organism, shuffling through a desolate wasteland, finally the superior race of one sitting on the throne of mankind.
In short, at the end of it all, there is no end to who they hate, and if they ever had their way, they'd turn on one another in short order. Hate cannot rest, cannot abide “the other,” and since “the other” is seven billion heads strong, they will always find some new target of their rancorous vitriol, until either they wake the hell up, or drop the hell dead.