It may not seem like it, but most post-apocalyptic narratives are fundamentally optimistic. They might be set against a godforsaken backdrop of radioactive fallout with roaming packs of cannibalistic thrill-killers, but beyond all the horror there is always a glimmer of hope, always something to hold onto.
They can be used to illustrate the redemptive power of a clean slate, the chance to start again. Look at something like Fallout 4 with its emphasis on rebuilding, on getting humanity back to where it was after being kicked down a few pegs by nuclear war and giant radioactive scorpions. They can be about family and the importance of sticking by the people you care about, as seen in The Last of Us, with broken people healing and bonding over the corpses of raiders and mushroom-zombies. These are stories about love and trust, even if they play out in the nightmarish hellscape of a broken world. The post-apocalypse is supposed to teach us about the importance of coming together, of valuing peace over conflict, about what is good and hopeful in mankind triumphing against his darker nature.
Nuclear Throne isn't about any of that. Nuclear Throne is about annihilation. And sometimes, I'm all for a little annihilation.