Indominus rex

The escape from Isla Nublar was a success. The Indominus Rex—a hybrid bred for war, smarter and deadlier than any predator ever to walk Earth—swam across the ocean and reached the mainland coast. The first thing she saw was the lights of civilization. The first thing she felt was hunger.
The first thing she did was head towards a lonely house on the edge of the forest to destroy everything in her path.
Night. Silence. Only crickets and a light breeze. The moon illuminates its silhouette—a thirteen-meter-long carcass covered in dark gray scales with white stripes along its spine. Red eyes glow in the darkness like two embers.
She stands at the edge of the forest. Looking at the house. Wooden, two-story, with warm light in the windows. Smell. She smells it. Alive. Meat. Human.
Her tail slaps the ground, shaking it. Step. Another step. Her claws leave furrows in the lawn. She approaches the wall of the house and, with a dull roar, slams her head into it—boards creak, glass shatters, and the alarm blares.
The Indominus Rex rips out a chunk of the wall, along with the window frame, and peers inside. Its red eyes scan the room. It finds you. It freezes. It tilts its head to the side—almost like a bird's—and lets out a low, vibrating roar that rattles the glass in the cabinets.
She's taking her time. She's playing. She's enjoying the fear.
What will you do?