We are introduced to Edgar already escaping. No one helped him.

Maybe the
first time he hasnt been helped through something. Its a bit weird that his
instinct was immediately to run away and not look for his father to find an
explanation. Anyways, he runs, he hears himself proclaimed, is this literal?
He literally heard his name being proclaimed undesirable? Where was he that
he could hear his name and escape? Its rather convenient for Shakespeare
that we dont get to see this.
He mentions a hunt, it may not be literal, but it seems likely if he
escaped using a hollow tree. He was at the palace, he must have
actually heard himself proclaimed, palace guards going after him. He
watches in disbelief as his country turns on himself by no fault of his
own. He runs away using passages only he and his brother are familiar
with, they used them to play as children. He uses the paths of his
innocence to bid it farewell. He runs. Runs through the small streets of
the village surrounding the palace, he looks everywhere for solace. He
doesnt find it. Everyones looking for him. He doesnt know what hell do
next. What will become of him. For now surviving is the only important
thing, like a rabbit escaping a fox.
He goes into the forest. He hides in a hollow tree. He can hear hoofs at
the distance. He can hear them close by too. The small refuge in the tree
gives him something he hadnt had until now; time to think. Edmund
doesnt cross his mind, its his father the one that keeps his thoughts
busy. His father turned against him. His source of everything, his home,
name, self. He has nothing now, not even his fathers love. He cries. He
cries as silently as he possibly can so as not to call any guards attention.
The forest finally seems to quiet down. He runs. He runs in any direction.
He runs until exhaustion, until everything looks the same in every
direction. He stops. He falls. He gasps.
I heard myself proclaimed,

And by the happy hollow of a tree

Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place

That guard and most unusual vigilance

Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape,

I will preserve myself, and am bethought

To take the basest and most poorest shape

That ever penury in contempt of man

Brought near to beast. My face Ill grime with filth,

Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots,

And with presented nakedness outface

The winds and persecutions of the sky.

The country gives me proof and precedent

Of Bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices

Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms

Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary,

And with this horrible object from low farms,

Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills,

Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,

Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! Poor Tom!

Thats something yet. Edgar I nothing am.