Lovecraftian horror is cosmic horror. It is the terror that comes from the realization that the universe is vast, inhospitable, and uncaring. That humanity’s desire to find our place in it is fruitless—that we have no place. We are insignificant and meaningless specks in the unfathomable reaches of both space and time, and there are entities in those reaches so monstrous and vast that should we come to comprehend them—even a little—that comprehension would surely devour our sanity.
It should be no surprise that this fits Numenera particularly well. Humans of the Ninth World are steeped in aeons, living in the shadows and remnants of civilzations whose accomplishments defy their comprehension daily. Surely this greatness of past carries to them a taste of this cosmic horror—as, perhaps, do the worlds, dimensions, and entities touched by those ancients.