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The beginning of a story like this, always, starts in the lab (barring the other island, of course.)
It starts with several ostrich eggs and a genome of varying purity re-written again and again and again, just in case. After the first Jurassic Park, they add another aspect to that; wouldn't want a repeat of the frog gene incident. Although, that didn't stop them from bringing over dinosaurs from Sorna to Nublar or vise versa, or even carrying over some of the old into the new. It's no surprise as to why the compsognathus population is so hard to get a bead on, much the same as why it's so hard to figure out where every hebivore is. Some are male, some are female.. but it's difficult to sex them at a glance.
It's more difficult still if you only have so-many implants and you give those dinosaurs unmitigated access to anywhere and everywhere they please, roaming the forbidden section and the park sections. Putting money and time into invisible fencing means nothing when many of the dinosaurs butt heads, even outside of the pachycephalosaurus. The Ceratopsians haven't had active implants in months.
But why would you check? After all, herbivores are docile with only a few exceptions.
The grandest lie of all is that very sentence, for many parts of all of these parks and on the other island, it's quite the inverse. The genetically modified dinosaurs are usually smaller or stranger or other such things than the original, but the body and the mind are the same. Ceratopsians fight for dominance and mating rights; a duck-bill will drown rivals or predators if given the chance, without question. Gyrospheres are built to be as dino-proof as they possibly can be for a reason, and it is not because they feared a theropod finding its way to the valleys (although one eventually did.)
There are things you should fear.
The mother apatosaur whose DNA dictates she crushes you if you get too close to her nesting ground, tucked just in the cover of the trees. The male triceratops at the head of the herd, whose horns are sharpened and cracked from wear, who is disinterested in letting your hamster ball get too close to their browsing grounds. The gallimimus that run alongside the truck could at any point decide that the tourist taking a photo with flash on ought to be pecked, made worse by reptile genes which may yet still allow for some teeth.
The angry herd of Sinoceratops at the breeding farm that hear a calf's distress cries. The stegosaurus crossing the highway unable to comprehend just what an 18-wheeler is supposed to be.
The brachiosaur who saw the Indominus and lived, brutal with her kicks.
The parasaurolophus who faintly glows in the dark, descendant of a Sorna father and a Lux mother, missing a front arm from when he boxed a baryonyx out of the caves.
The ankylosaur who's fought off a carnotaur not once, not twice, but three times, defending a herd of two-leggers.
But despite it all, they are still capable of that gentleness; many a tale are the sauropods eating right from your hands. Many a tale are the ceratopsians giving an affectionate lick to their caretakers, interested in the sweat on their face.
You just shouldn't forget.
When a theropod is percieved as nature's greatest killing machine, the prey must be thrice as strong.