I think inherently it's the "dump" part of info/exposition dumping that's the problem. Because that's what it often feels like, it's just been dropped, copy pasted from a world building document without any care for the impact it can have or seamlessly working into the narrative, no matter where in the story. And the quickest, easiest way to fix this is to just give it some character or break it up.
For instance, this is the opening of chp1 for The Scorpio Races, one of my favourite books, and it comes after you vague and mysterious murder horse prologue:
People say my brothers would be lost without me, but really, I’d be lost without them.
Usually, if you ask someone on the island where they come from, they say something like Round about Skarmouth or Back side of Thisby, the hard side or Stone’s throw from Tholla. But not me. I remember being small, clutching my father’s lined hand, and some wind-beaten old farmer who looked like he’d been dug out of the sod asking, “Where you from, girl?” I answered, in a voice too loud for my tiny freckled self, “The Connolly House.” He said, “What’s that, now?” And I replied back, “Where we Connollys live. Because I’m one.” And then — I am still a bit embarrassed about this part of it, as it speaks to a black part of my character — I added, “And you’re not.”
That’s just the way things are. There are the Connollys, and then there’s the rest of the world — though the rest of the world, when you live on Thisby, is not very large. Before last fall, it was always this: me, my younger brother, Finn, my older brother, Gabe, and our parents. We were a pretty quiet family altogether. Finn was always putting things together and taking them back apart and saving any spare parts in a box under his bed. Gabe wasn’t a huge conversationalist, either. Six years older than me, he saved his energy for growing; he was six feet tall by the age of thirteen. Our dad played the tin whistle, when he was home, and our mother performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes every evening, though I didn’t realize what a miracle it was until she wasn’t around.
It wasn’t that we were unfriendly with the rest of the island. We were just friendlier with ourselves. Being a Connolly came first. That was the only rule. You could hurt all the feelings you liked, so long as you weren’t hurting the feelings of a Connolly.
This is, for all intents and purposes, straight up exposition about the main character and her family, but because it's done with such character, it doesn't feel like it's just been dumped there from a character backstory sheet. It's very telly in many ways, but the character flare on it makes it more forgivable. (Although it gets away with it because the prologue is murder horses and has one of the much iconic ominous opening lines to keep you there, but I think this would work ok without anyway and given I know people who skip prologues by rule and so missed it, I think it did ok.)
Another common, mostly worn out version is to just lean into it and just making it a classroom scene. Or, much like ATLA, make it brief, if you can sum it up in a few snappy sentences, you're pretty good.