Think of it like that.
You've found yourself in a savage, unknown land, and everything is out to kill you. First nights you spend likely in a dirt hole, or rackety wooden shack, and though all night you hear screams, rasps and moans as the horde of undead and demons tries to force their way into your only safe(?) place. You can't even build a raft and sail the fuck away, because some strange force prevents you from doing that. You'd try hiding deep underground, but that's another can of worms (gigantic, maneating monstrosities), likely full of traps left by gods know who.
But you have no choice. You have to venture that hostile caverns, to get resources that will help you survive in this gods forsaken land. You develop new weapons, build stronger defences, find forgotten artifacts, dabble into eldritch magic, combat creatures from nightmares, slaughter your way through hell and heaven(?) alike, just to see the light of the new day. You are forced to climb the food chain.
Every challenge you face and come victorious at the end strengthens you. Suddenly nights stop being so restless, underground so frightening, dungeons so mysterious. You begin to shape the very land to suit your needs. At this point you stop thinking of just surviving - you began planning on how to strike back. How to use the fact that everything is out to kill you to strengthen yourself further.
This is where stuff gets truly dangerous.
But not for you.
Weeks spent on slaughtering living and dead alike have warped your personality. You get addicted to the sound of breaking bones, flesh being lacerated, charred and crushed. You revel in festival of gore and loot. Traps and devices you used to simply defend yourself you alter to inflict as much pain to the outside world as possible, no matter that half of creatures that exist in it can't feel pain. You create elaborate contraptions whose sole purpose is to destroy everything that dares to step inside their bounds.
Now it's only you who truly hunts at night.
...Anyway, traps are valid, use them.